


Time in a Bottle

by esama



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Do not repost, Don't copy to another site, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-02-27 03:45:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18731026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: 500 years ago Ezio Auditore disappeared with only a ridiculous unbelievable story explaining where or how - according to his wife-to-be, he was taken up into the sky in a flying great machine, never to be seen again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Proofread by Nimadge
> 
> Background music [Assassin's Creed Revelations Main Menu Theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vq12-7feyg4)

Claudia

Though I have long spent thinking on how to begin this letter, I still scarcely know how to start. The events that led me to this situation elude my understanding, and though I have attempted to avert this fate any way I could, I fear there is naught I can do. Knowing how unlikely it is that you should ever receive this letter…

Yet I feel I must write to you – must put these circling thoughts to paper and perhaps find some peace in having them immortalised in writing. Perhaps then I will be able to rest, one day, at ease.

Sofia and I reached the library of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, with little difficulty for that last leg of the journey. The keys fit their appointed places in the door and the library was unsealed – its secrets revealed to be less and more than we thought. There were no books, no written texts, no old words of wisdom. There was only Altaïr, and Apple of Eden, and the Vessel of Stars – and Altaïr's memories of building it.

I hold the last of the Disks in my hand now. It had shown me its knowledge twice now, and with each repetition I have grown more sympathetic of Altaïr's plight – and perhaps, more bitter of it also.

The last decade of Altaïr's life was spent in building the Library – the Vessel of Stars. He could not say why he built it, why it was important – he was as if a migratory bird answering a call of distant lands he'd never known but could not deny. The Apple's hold, though he'd tried so hard to resist it, was increasingly more powerful upon him, and the older he grew the harder it was to deny. And so he built, layering stone and metal and gold, fashioning incredible devices and casting them in crystal and glass, working single mindedly on a task the purpose of which he never knew. He died not knowing what it was he'd built.

I scarcely know it myself, though I have fallen victim to it's alluring trap.

I activated his creation, as unknowing as was he, thinking it must have been built for me. It was arrogance, I know, but the lack of the books and the wisdom I sought made me feel entitled to answers I now know I do not understand. So I laid my hands upon the pedestals Altaïr built and I demanded then to answer my call.

And the Vessel of Stars heeded my demand.

Ah, Claudia. If only I had Leonardo's talent, and his paints also, I would fashion you a most incredible image – of the world as seen from the point of view of birds, of clouds – and of gods. The Vessel of Stars hoisted me aloft with it, and through windows I had not noticed were there, I could see the world as we rose. First above Masyaf, then the lands on which those mountains stand – then I could see the shape of the Mediterranean sea below me, as if it was the most magnificent map drawn by a great artist's hand. Then the world below me grew curved, and smaller, and then it was a globe glowing blue and green and white, set against dark velvet with stars, the Sun a great point of light in blackness. It was the most peculiar thing, how dark the universe yet was, even with the Sun shining so brightly… I hardly have the words to describe it.

But it was a vision made more painfully beautiful by how brief it was – for in the next moment, the Vessel was overtaken by all encompassing light, purple and blue and white and red – it was as if I was flying among Northern lights. And then that was all I knew.

The Vessel is still moving, I can feel it in its core, in the steady murmur of power that runs through it. Where it is taking me I do not know, but I fear it's a place so terribly far away that I can't ever go back. That too I can feel, in my own core. All that I have ever known I am leaving far far behind.

You, the Brotherhood – my young, kind bride to be… I dare say I will never again see all of you again. And the latter I grieve the most – and yet, perhaps, am also most relieved by.

I told Sofia great deal about you, my sister, and I hope that she will continue our planned journey to meet you. I hope you are kind to her, see that she well taken care of. I know she will not mourn for long, and I hope she will not feel guilty for continuing her life – I was ever to be only a small part of her, and even that much I felt I was stealing from her. Sofia had many decades to her life yet, and I only one at most.

I know I think this way not out of generosity or kindness – but in desperation and self interest. Should I give into the grief and regret and envision her to spend her life in mourning, I fear I would sooner lose my mind than I am already bound to.

It is very… very lonely on board this vessel.

* * *

 

Dear Claudia

I have expended my supplies. I had not much to begin with, but I stretched what I had out as far as I could, trying in the meanwhile to understand how this vessel functions and how I might control it. In both of these endeavours I have failed.

This ship's mechanisms are to me as inexplicable as magic. I know they are not – Altaïr to his dying breath only thought of them as technology, though even he could not comprehend their functions. The light that shines from no discernible source, the lines of glowing gold on the walls… they all whisper of technologies long lost. I cannot understand them, nor the writing on the walls, flickering on the windows. The language is utterly unknown.

The crystalline slats set upon the pedestals, like keys on a harpsichord, do something and react to my touches, as to their function I have but the faintest clue. I daren't touch then for fear of making some mistake I cannot even understand the cause or implication of.

The Vessel is larger than the chamber I first entered – there are four rooms, each with windows and pedestals with crystalline keys and purposes that remain a mystery to me. In one of them I found a framework with what I assume is meant to be a bed, only it it's missing all bedding – all there is are metal sides and bottom, which spreads out like the sides of a cradle, but offer little comfort otherwise. It's damned uncomfortable to lie on, and upon waking up I felt very cold and barely rested.

I have endeavoured to understand, but I feel my time is running soon to an end – I can no longer ration food for I have nothing more, and I have similarly grown very low on water. I hoped this vessel might offer me a solution to this, but as of now…

Something has occurred. It is as if someone heard my thoughts or read my writing – the Vessel, utterly without my acting upon it, has reacted to my plead. In the third room, a wall has opened and within it a small fountain flows with clear water – and even a stranger faucet flows with what seems like… porridge, only not quite like it. It has the texture and consistency of hard tack that was dissolved in water – I ingested only little, out of fear that it might be inedible, but so far it had done little more than quench my hunger. The taste was not praise worthy, however.

I fear I might yet live after all. Though now I understand this vessel even less, and it's hard to deny how magical it all feels.

What I do understand is that I am traveling among stars. Perhaps the whirling colours outside are the realm where gods reside, but I doubt it – it seems very empty, and very full. The space outside roars with power, and yet there is nothing there, it is… the most peculiar sensation, to look upon it.

I will take the blessings of this vessel and I will attempt to make the most of them – to learn the language written upon these walls and learn to control these devices. Perhaps I will watch Altaïr's memories again – he might not have understood everything, but he wrote the texts upon these walls, and I feel he did not do it out of blind obsession alone. There is a story written upon this vessel, and I am very interested to know what it might entail.

* * *

 

Claudia

I have taken to sleeping in the frame of a bed, and for all that it leaves me tired for how uncomfortable it is, I find I am less hungry and thirsty for the rest I get upon it. I think the odd frame might be sustaining me in some way. I have learned not to question it – there is already so much I do not understand.

The silence here grates on me. Days are long and ceaseless and night does not exist – all there is, is the light of the universe outside, calling out to me with its empty roar. Sometimes I feel as thought I can hear voices in it, but I know this is only the figment of my tired lonely mind, growing weary in isolation. I must distract myself and concentrate onto other things, lest my mind betrays me.

I have viewed Altaïr's final memory disk many times, and though time and lack of anything better to do, I am slowly learning words in the language of Those That Came Before. It's is too early for me to understand the writing on the walls, but I have learned some words which are carved in the crystal keys, which might be a clue to their function. Some are numbered, others have more elaborate symbols on them. The keys on my awkward bed frame read _sleep_ , and then there are numbers. I think with it I might be able to control how long I remain in slumber – though I cannot yet see what purpose one might need such a device for.

Time seems like a nonexistent thing here. No days, no nights, no weeks or months. I know it has been weeks now, but I cannot say how long. By the growth of my beard I estimate a month has passed, but that's hardly an accurate time keeping method, best that I have though it is.

There are days when I don't work, where I leave my writings, my attempts of replicating the Apple's language aside. There are days I am tempted to give into it as Altaïr did and welcome the Apple's knowledge, heedless of what tasks it might enforce upon me. They're are days when I spend every waking hour only practicing with my blades, eating and then practicing some more.

Some days I do nothing at all and lose track of time even worse than I did before.

I wonder, my sister, how do you fare? How fares our Brotherhood? Has the word of my disappearance into the stars spread yet, has Sophia reached you, has she told you?

I hope my earlier letters gave you closure. In them I think I covered my feelings on the matter of my own death quite well, and how I wished to be laid to rest, with none claiming revenge in my name. That stands still – though this end is not the one I envisioned and it's taking damnably long time to finish… I still wish you to seek only peace and truth and live a long and contented life.

I hope your share my letters with Sophia, should she be missing me – for I wrote to her only little and left far too much unsaid. Tell her of me, of our youth, of our stories and then… lay my memory to rest.

I hope together your will resolve my absence in any way you can.

* * *

 

My dearest Sofia

Should my timekeeping be accurate and anywhere near to the true passage of time in realms where such things still matter… you might have had the baby by now.

I know not if you knew, and I hardly dared to tempt fate by voicing such things before their due time… but yes, I could tell. Perhaps you did also – for occasionally there was such a secretive smile on your lips that it filled me with great anticipation. I think you knew – but kept it yet to yourself.

I cannot know what might have happened, what turns your path might have taken, what ills might have befallen you, and I will not entertain fears. I wish you only the best – and I imagine even better.

I imagine you get all that you desire – a great library in Florence, a printing press at your beck and call and all the books in the world to read – perhaps some even to write. I imagine a child at your feet, a girl or a boy, I cannot tell, but they are well and so are you.

I am too selfish an old man to imagine another at your side to replace me, a lover or a husband, but I hope you find someone, I hope you are happy and I hope he treats you kindly and gives you freedom.

I wish we had had more time, but I always knew our time would be precious and short, and I think you did too. I choose not to question why you decided to take such an older man as your husband, but I know you are smart enough to understand the implications. The fact that your would marry me regardless humbled me.

Though perhaps my age and our limited time together was a factor in its own right – a widowed wife enjoys freedoms an unmarried woman does not, after all.

Forgive me – that was unbecoming of me. And even if such considerations had played a role in your decision, I would not think any less of you for them. It is only wise to think ahead, and I value your intelligence greatly, I would not have you abstain from using it for the sake of my ego.

I scarcely know what I am writing. I know in my heart of hearts you will never read this. Perhaps no one ever will. I fear it makes me honest in evil ways.

I dared not to write before – or perhaps, stubbornly refused – out of some superstitious fear that if I did, then my hopes would be spoiled and my wishes would never come true, that if I held my peace, then I would soon see you again – see our child being born, see… everything.

I am terribly lonely, Sofia. It has been months. I thought I was used to solitude, that I could brave the silence – I have many times before during my long career, but… not like this.

The silence seems almost sinister, how it lingers and echoes, hollow and deceptive. I have taken to talking to myself and even singing to stall its advance, but sometimes it seems as though the nothingness around me robs me of my voice and I can't make a sound.

I miss music, I miss the sounds of people's laughter, their chatter – I miss the busy streets of Constantinople, where I sometimes could understand nary a word, but the voices carried with them enough emotion and passion to be understood. I miss the sounds of dozens of footsteps on the dusty streets and the whistle of wind in alleyways – the rise and descent of waves, how they rock the ships in the harbour. I even miss the yelling of guards as they came after me. I miss the warmth of it all.

It's so damned cold in here.

I imagine you and our child, happy and safe in Florence, living, growing happy, growing old. It brings me solace.

* * *

 

Claudia, Sofia

I have learned to understand more of this Vessel and its mysterious language – and the writing Altaïr left on the walls. It has given me access to devices I did not realise were present – such as means to clean my clothes, even myself. I believe the cleaning device even repairs my clothing, I will endeavour to test it by feeding something broken into it.

I have also learned to understand what the controls upon my sleeping frame mean, and what the frame actually does. It explains why I never seem to fully rest within it.

I have begun to translate Altaïr's writing on the walls, and the tale he has inscribed there is not a pleasant one. He writes of a voice that speaks to him, Juno, the promises she's made and will never keep, the illusions she paints which aren't real. It is her voice that corrupts, her voice that whispers of power and never delivers. She lies and deceives, and in the end she grew to have such a foothold upon Altaïr's mind that he could not resist her. And so she made him build her a ship to take her to the stars when the time was right, to carry her to a great ancient city of her people, now long abandoned, which she could rule as a Queen.

Altaïr also tells of two people – Those That Came Before and Those That Came _Before_ Them. The Isu and then their precursors, the Ancients. The Ancients came and left Earth long ago, but some of their progeny stayed and became the Isu, and in time they healed – though from what, Altaïr doesn't say. They healed, they prospered, and in time they conquered the world.

And they grew crooked. Malicious. Senseless. Cruel.

Humanity was their creation, and they weren't kind to it. Their tools, their miraculous artefacts stand in testimony to this - the Pieces of Eden. They are tools of dominion… of slavery.

But the Ancients still remained, far away, beyond the known stars, and they too prospered in their own way. They made trade, occasionally, but the two were no longer of one mind and their friendship grew cold and eventually severed. Ancients did not approve the creation of humans, or their enslavement. Isu did not care. The two races grew estranged.

And when the Sun begun to burn hotter and the Isu called for aid… the Ancients did not answer.

Juno learned, afterwards, that Ancients only lived a while longer and left behind wealth of knowledge and power and technology – a great city on the bottom of the ocean. Atlantis.

It is why she needed a vessel to reach the stars and why Altaïr had to build it, for the city is far away, farther than I can count or comprehend.

"But I did not need to make it so that only she could use it," he writes on the walls. "And I did not."

Claudia. Sofia. I know now that time has passed me by far faster than I could have imagined. Sleeping in the device I have called a _frame_ , I have slept away years at a time, decades. It is a tool of long sleep, where one might sleep away decades and never notice the time passing. Unbeknownst to myself, I have lost you both to time. By now even our children would have passed away from old age.

And still the journey continues, growing ever long.

I suspect soon I shall turn the hourglass all the way around and stay asleep however long it will take to reach the destination. There is no longer any point in trying to stop this.

There is no reason for me to go back anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

"... And that's the end of the last letter," Doctor Weir finishes, setting the papers down with a thoughtful look upon her face. Similarly the others around the table are also in deep thought – the earlier looks of suspicion fading into confusion and sympathy, begrudging though it is in some cases.

"His story is very sad," Teyla comments. "To be so cut off from those he loved, and due to no fault of his own…"

"Yeah," Doctor Weir agrees and leans her elbows onto the conference room table. "Rodney, I understand your team had been doing an analysis on his effects?"

"Well, what's not in the stasis with him, anyway," Rodney says and clears his throat. "The initial carbon dating on his equipment dates most of them back at least five hundred years, some much further – including the ship, which is nearly thousand years old. The oldest thing by far is the Orb – the Apple? – which we estimated to be at least hundred thousand years old."

"You haven't activated the Apple, right?" Weir asks. "Because if what's in these letters is true –"

"Well, we – tried, but the Apple didn't really react to any of us. I was about to have Major Sheppard try it when you sent out a word not to," Rodney admits. "It's under lock and key now in a secure containment unit. The weird disc was locked away too, just in case."

"Good," Doctor Weir nods and then turns to Carson. "What have your figured out about our guest? How is his condition?"

"Knowing that he hasn't been in stasis for that long clears up some questions I had left," Carson says. "We thought at first his condition might be similar to that of Old Elizabeth when she came out – that he aged between bouts of _or_ during long stasis. But now I think he was already in his late fifties when he went into the stasis – he's suffering of none of Old Elizabeth's degradation, and I doubt he's had much in a way of muscular or cellular atrophy. Quite frankly, according to our scans, aside from some old injuries and broken bones which have already healed, he's one of the healthiest fifty year olds I've seen."

"That's a glowing pronouncement," Doctor Weir comments. "So he should have no adverse effects to being taken out of stasis?"

"Obviously I'll know more once I can properly examine him," Doctor Beckett says. "But no, I don't think so."

"So, wait," Major Sheppard says, leaning in. "We're really believing this idea that this guy came from Earth. And from the 1500s? I can't be the only one who's finding this a bit unbelievable."

"The evidence is in this case rather overwhelming," Weir says and looks between them. "Earth has a long history of alien encounters – with Ancients, the Asgard, the Goa'uld… I don't think we can rule out the possibility that something like this might have happened on Earth – alien technology leading people to discoveries they might have not been in any way prepared for. Renaissance was the time of enlightened thinking and exploration – it's not so weird to think someone might have run into something and gotten a little over their heads with it."

"Honestly, I'm more concerned about that Isu and this guy's claim that apparently they _created_ humans," Rodney comments, casting a look at Major Sheppard. "And that some Arabic guy built the ship, apparently? Where would they even get the materials, never mind the crystals, the refined metals…"

"Well, hopefully our guest himself can answer those questions for us soon," Doctor Weir says and stands up. "Doctor Beckett, you have a go. Keep me informed."

Teyla frowns a little at the looks exchanged between the members of her team and then looks at major Sheppard. "I'm sorry, I don't think I understand – is it significant that his journey begun five hundred years ago?"

"It's a little significant," Sheppard says, making a face. "Though mostly it's just weird."

"Earth didn't have space flight back then – in fact, we didn't have much of any technology," Rodney explains. "Sciences were still in their infancy and most popular cure for all ails was still mercury. The idea that some guy from back then figured out how to not only space travel but do so between galaxies, even if accidentally or lead by an alien AI, it's a little… a little far-fetched."

"In this case, this man must be very confused upon his awakening," Teyla comments sympathetically.

"Yeah, no kidding. It would be like one of us waking up 500 years from now to find that everyone has their own personal space station and communicates telepathically across galaxies," McKay says while activating his tablet computer.

"In any case, I'm going to put a security detail on the guy – with the amount of weapons he had on him, chances are he knows how to fight," Sheppard says.

"May I be of assistance?" Teyla asks quickly. "I am curious to see what your people were like in the past – his weaponry and armour is so different from your own."

"Well, he's not really _our_ people – he comes from another country and – actually, never mind," Sheppard says and offers her a smile. "Sure, I'm sure we could use your help."

"Just so that you're careful – equal rights wasn't really a thing back in his time and women tended to be regarded as property," McKay comments distractedly and wanders off, tapping on the tablet.

Teyla blinks. "The man sounded very kind in his letters to his bride and sister," she says warily. "Not at all like he was speaking to slaves."

"Yeah, never mind McKay," Sheppard smiles awkwardly. "I'm sure it will be fine."

* * *

 

The ship that now rests upon the south pier had alarmed many with its sudden appearance. There had been no prior warning of its arrival – the people of Atlantis had only learned of it once it was upon them and making landfall. With no life signs on board and no one answering hails, it was assumed the ship was working on its own, called forth by Atlantis's reactivation, called back home by automated systems. Truth, it seems, was stranger.

Ever since meeting the people of Earth, Teyla had felt that in them laid a seed of hope – that should there be a way to fight the Wraith, they would be a key to it with their fresh hearts and unwillingness to surrender in the face of overwhelming odds. Though they were not the Ancestors, Atlantis, she hopes, is in the right hands with them.

This event seems only to affirm that perhaps Atlantis was truly left for these people – that it had been calling them home for hundreds of years, perhaps longer.

The man from five hundred years ago is an old man, but she can tell he's strong just by the weight of the armour he'd worn and the weapons he possessed. The man carried, according to the catalogue made of his gear, no less than twenty-nine blades, two of which were strapped to his bracers and twenty five of which were throwing knives. He also had a firearm, attached to one of his bracers, a crossbow for which he had a fun complement of bolts and what Rodney and Sergeant Bates identified as hand crafted bombs.

Paradoxically, it makes Sergeant Bates and the security personnel vary, and even Major Sheppard seems disturbed. Teyla wonders sometimes if they are aware of their own bias in the matter or how the people of Pegasus galaxy see them. While the people of Earth look at the man and see a potentially dangerous individual, Teyla looks at him and sees the same thing she sees in the soldiers of Atlantis.

_This is a man who can hold his own against a Wraith._

"I think he's coming to," Doctor Beckett informs them, and while the security team readies itself for anything, Teyla watches beside Doctor Weir how the man opens his eyes and takes in his situation.

The shock on his face is brief and made all the more pronounced by how quickly the man covers it. He then takes in everyone in the room in a quick sweeping glance, checking for doors and windows. Teyla shifts where she stands and smiles when the man's eyes move to her, attempting to appear non hostile.

"Hello," Doctor Weir says, smiling. "How are you feeling?"

The man turns to her and then slowly sits up – making the security team shift their footing. "Dove mi trovo? Chi siete?"

It must be the language in the letter, which Doctor Weir had to translate – Italian.

"Siamo ad Atlantide?" the man asks.

"Si, ti trovi ad Atlantide." Doctor Weir replies. "Mi chiamo Elizabeth Weir, sono al comando di queste persone. La tua astronave è atterrata nella nostra città poco fa – ti abbiamo tirato fuori e portato in infermeria per assicurarci che ti riprendessi. Come ti senti?"

The man considers her and his voice softens. "Molto meglio, essendo stato tratto in salvo da una simile paragone di bellezza," he says in a much warmer tone. "Vi ringrazio, madonna."

Curiously, Doctor Weir seems a little taken aback by that, despite the friendly tone it was spoken with. "Doctor Weir, is something the matter? What did he say?"

"He, uh, thanked us for the rescue," Doctor Weir says, clearing her throat and smiling. "Il piacere è stato nostro. Potrei sapere il suo nome?"

"Il mio nome è Ezio Auditore da Firenze. Piacere mio."

* * *

 

There is in the end little Teyla can do to help, as their guest speaks no language she knows.  Doctor Weir continues talking with the man, likely explaining what had occurred to him. Teyla listens for a while, but there is little she can do or say and eventually she slips away to join Major Sheppard, Lieutenant Ford and Doctor McKay.

"So why isn't he being translated?" Lieutenant Ford is asking. "Isn't the Stargate supposed to patch up this sort of stuff?"

"Maybe his Babel fish is broken?" Major Sheppard suggests.

"The Stargate translation matrix only works for those who have actually come into contact with one –  and I doubt this guy had ever even heard of a Stargate," Rodney comments, peering at the screen. "Look at him, the poor old guy has no idea what's going on, he'll never be able to understand any of this. Out of curiosity, do we have a designated old folks' home yet?"

"He seemed remarkably alert to me," Teyla says.

"Yeah, well, he comes from the time when people still thought the universe revolves around the Earth, don't think he will have much to contribute," Rodney shrugs. "It is interesting though. The guy is kind of like a living piece of Renaissance – I bet the history geeks will love him."

Teyla frowns a little at that, unsure how to take it. She's seen men and women older than Ezio Auditore fight the Wraith and have their contributions matter greatly. Sometimes the disrespect these people show to the elderly – who have hard won their advanced age and should be celebrated for it – confuses her.

"He brought with him a ship, that's a contribution," Major Sheppard comments.

"Not much of a one," Rodney says and shakes his head. "The thing is falling apart and the hyperdrive had barely enough kick to make the jump – however it was built, it wasn't built to last. We might be able to salvage some systems, but I doubt we will be able to get it off the ground again."

"Oh. Bummer."

"So if we took the guy through the Gate, we'd be able to understand him, even if he speaks an Earth language?" Lieutenant Ford asks after a moment of silence.

"That's generally how it goes, with a few snags here and there," McKay says and shrugs. "I'll be heading back to poke around the ship – thinking of swinging by the cafeteria on my way. Anyone feeling like lunch?"

"I could eat," Sheppard agrees. "Ford, Teyla?"

"Right with you, sir," Lieutenant Ford says.

"I believe I will stay a while longer and observe," Teyla says. "Thank you."

"Well, suit yourself. Let us know if something comes up, alright?"

"I will be in touch, Major."

Teyla watches them go and then turns back to look at the screen, where Doctor Weir is joined by a couple of linguists and a member of the expedition with the flag patch for Italy at her shoulder. Ezio Auditore is listening to all of them very closely and patiently as they talk.

Sometimes Teyla had to wonder what a dichotomy these people can be – to come from a world with such a wealth of history and culture and knowledge… and sometimes with such a strange lack of respect for it. It must be the ease of living in such a widely populated world as Earth must be without ever knowing the threat of Wraith, to have the freedom for such disregard for those that came before you and all the sacrifices they made.

Hugging herself, Teyla quells her jealousy and wonders if one day her people might know such prosperity also.

* * *

 

It's about half an hour later that Doctor Weir steps outside, leaving Ezio Auditore in the company of the linguists and his Italian countryman. Teyla catches her eye on the way out, and with a smile Elizabeth sidles along to her. "It's remarkable," she says.

"I can only imagine, meeting a man from so far in your past," Teyla agrees. "How is he taking it all?"

"Very well, really – but then he'd figured what it all would mean to him, along the way," Elizabeth says. "He didn't guess how long it would take, all in all – but the last time he went into stasis, it had been over a hundred years since his journey started, by his calculation. I told him how long it's been, in reality – he was surprised, but… not shocked."

Teyla nods, watching the screen where Ezio Auditore is politely listening to Doctor Mariani explain something, showing him pictures on a laptop screen. "What will happen to him now?"

Doctor Weir shakes her head and sighs. "There's not much we can do for him, aside from offering him a place to stay, explain him what has happened over the last five hundred years, make him comfortable… Almost everything he's ever known is gone, now, even the city states he's from aren't around anymore. And even if they were – it's not as if we can send him back to Earth, seeing that we don't have the means."

Elizabeth sighs and shrugs. "Maybe we can offer him a place on the mainland, if he'd be interested."

Teyla gives her a look, not sure if she is serious. "I'm sure my people would be happy to welcome him in their midst – difficulties in communicating aside, but…" She looks to the screen. Ezio Auditore wasn't given back his armour or weapons yet, but just by the basic clothes alone one could tell the man is a fighter. "Ezio Auditore seems to be a warrior of some kind – have you told him about the Wraith?"

Elizabeth sighs. "I was advised against pushing too far too soon," she says. "Ending up five hundred years in the future is already shock enough – adding into it threats of Galactic level when speaking of a man who doesn't entirely even understand the concept of what a galaxy is…"

"Then we must explain it to him," Teyla says and continues before Doctor Weir can argue. "I know your people think mine are simple, and you are not wrong, in some things we are far behind you. But we can grasp these concepts, we can learn more – why would not this man be able to? Is he not listening calmly, internalising what is being told to him?"

Elizabeth glances at the screen and can't exactly deny it – the man is very obviously learning, and fast.

"Were I in his situation – and indeed, were anyone I know in his situation… I think they would wish to know about the present _threat_ before all else," Teyla says. "Doctor Weir – it might be a shock, but the Wraith cannot be denied. And when one is kept from knowing, then one is unable to prepare for them."

The older woman sighs and folds her arms. "You're not wrong," she says then. "But the thing is, I haven't yet figured out a way to kindly broach the subject with _anyone_ , never mind a man 500 years into Earth's past," she admits and looks at Teyla. "I thought we could ease him into it."

Teyla gives her a frustrated smile and shakes her head. "You are kind, and I understand why you feel this way," she says. "But sometimes there is no easing one into these things. And perhaps in this case, there shouldn't be. You must tell him."

Weir hesitates for a moment and then nods slowly, considering him. "You're hoping he will join us in the war against the Wraith," she says then.

Teyla doesn't deny it. "Against the Wraith, every fighter counts," she says simply and looks towards the screen. "And I know a great fighter when I see one. Should he wish to retire to the mainland, that is his right – but I think we should at least tell him what we are up against. We would be doing ourselves and him a disservice, if we did not."

"Alright, you've talked me over," Weir says. "Though I can feel a hundred historians screaming at me about historical preservation, I will go with your way."

"He is not a relic," Teyla says slowly. "He's a man."

"From a very important period of Earth history, from which thousands of people would die to hear first person accounts of," Weir says ruefully. "But you're right, of course. Let's go."

Teyla nods and quickly follows the Leader of Atlantis. She expects there will be opposition, there always is with Atlanteans when the subject of bringing any new people is broached – there would be suspicion too, that would likely come first. But Teyla has a good feeling about this – a feeling not altogether dissimilar she got when meeting Major Sheppard for the first time.

This too, she feels, would change things for the galaxy as a whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Holly for helping me with the Italian.


	3. Chapter 3

Atlantis is greater than Ezio could have imagined. He had known it would be, any city built by those that came before – or even their even earlier predecessors – could not be anything but very great. But he had not imagined such buildings. Dozens of storeys, all lit without a fire in sight, all built from material that looks like metal but does not feel nearly as cold. For the rest he had no means to even imagine – he knew time had passed, he knew when he would emerge from his slumber many years would have passed, but he hadn't dared to hope to find people. Never mind people from the very place he thought he'd left behind forever.

People of Earth had broken free from the confines of their world – now, they colonised the distant stars. And oh, how right had Leonardo been concerning the nature of the universe – and yet fallen so short from it. If only he could see where it all led.

Ezio is given a tour of Atlantis, and there are so many things to see that he doesn't even mind the guard on him, or the fact that his weapons or armour haven't been given back to him. There are so many things to see, and so far these people do not seem to mean him any harm – if anything, they have been most accommodating. Now Doctor Mariani – a _female_ doctor, but not of medicine – is explaining to him all he sees, kindly patient with his ignorance.

"And all of this is a joined work of many nations?" Ezio wonders.

"Yeah – about two dozen different nations sent representatives. Everyone here volunteered, of course, since there was a chance it would be one way and we might never come back," Doctor Mariani explains. "The United States is nominally in charge though – the military comes from the United States, and Doctor Weir is an American."

Ezio thinks back to the explanations of nations that now exist on Earth – including the nation of Italy, which had over the years and through many conflicts joined together many of the old republics of the peninsula – including Florence and Venice and what used to be the Papal States.

"World must have changed greatly for such harmony to exist between nations," he comments, wondering – had they reached the fabled peace at last?

Doctor Mariani coughs. "It took a long history and a lot of doing – I'll see if I can have someone do a… summary of it all," she offers. "But I suppose we've come a long way, yes."

"To another _galaxy_ even," Ezio muses as the step to a balcony.

The tower they are on is one of many strangely shaped towers that rise from the floating city. According to what Doctor Weir – another female doctor and the leader of these people – had told him, they have only begun exploring the city and many parts of it were off limits due to instability and damage from how old the city is. Ezio suspects he will be restrained from accessing many parts otherwise too, it being rather military sort of base, but for now he's willing to comply with it.

"Incredible, isn't it?" Doctor Mariani asks and draws a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "I will never get used to this."

Ezio casts a look at her – she's a lovely creature made lovelier by the hues of gold and gentle orange of the late afternoon hitting her unblemished face at a flattering angle. She is also rather young.

"I have seen many great cities," Ezio says and looks away. "Florence, Venice, Rome, Constantinople…" he hums. "They pale in comparison."

Except perhaps in one aspect. Atlantis looks like it was built from a dream – in a single piece, perfect from its founding. Atlantis, from what Ezio can see, has no history to it – it was never developed or built upon or expanded. It just… is.

Only maybe it isn't – for though the city itself stands like an immovable pillar in time, the people that inhabit it now are making their mark upon it. It might be no more permanent than cloth tents set up in the Colosseum, easily swept away in time, but right here and now, it's altering the visual, and in so doing, giving the city an illusion of change.

There's a hiss of an unseen mechanism and Ezio turns to look to see Teyla Emmagan step onto the balcony, nodding and smiling in greeting and speaking to Doctor Mariani. Ezio watches with interest, listening to the flow of languages, and how easily they understand each other despite not speaking anything like the same tongue.

Teyla Emmagan is a human from another world, they tell him. For what they call an alien, she sure seems remarkably un-alien. In fact, she too is lovely to look at – especially in this outfit. She wears leather now, a pleated skirt and tight vest that leaves her midriff bare.

"Teyla would like to invite you to spar with her," Doctor Mariani says, frowning slightly. "She teaches martial arts to some of the Expedition members here – you don't have to, of course."

A Martial _Art_? That's a lovely way to describe such things. "Please tell lovely Madonna Emmagan I would be delighted," Ezio says, nodding his head slightly. "Though I haven't my weapons on me."

Teyla smiles, knowing and proud, and motions him to follow, saying something. "There are practice weapons in the training hall," Doctor Mariani explains, a little hesitant. "You can borrow them."

"Good. Let's go, then."

The training hall is a room with soft mats that aren't woven from fabric, with many racks of wooden practice weapons, most of them short rods, but there are also staves and wooden swords. While Teyla takes off her shoes, Ezio examines the racks with interest. The weapons on it seem heavily used.

Though he rarely spars in anything but full gear, Ezio removes his robes and his shoes to be polite before choosing a practice sword close to his preferred sword. Teyla takes two rods, spinning them in her hands while speaking.

"She's saying not to go easy on her," Doctor Mariani says. "And that there are no rules. Just tell me if you want to call it quits."

"Very well," Ezio says, testing the practice swords weight and then holding it at a guard.

Teyla takes a guard position of her own and waits – and once she is certain Ezio will not be making the first move, she attacks.

She, Ezio is happy to find, isn't going easy on him either, going immediately and without hesitation for the kill. Ezio blocks her attack, parries the other and while she's moving her rod for another attack, Ezio cuts across her bare stomach.

"Kill," he says and pulls back. Doctor Mariana gapes and then translates, and Teyla' eyes flash with interest.

They step apart and go again. Teyla goes low this time, feinting left and attacking right. Ezio waits, blocks and blocks again and then puts the sword to her neck, drawing a mark across it.

"Kill," he says again.

Teyla needs no translation this time. She disengages and whirls her batons, looking keen now.

The next bout is longer – she's no longer trying to lead his sword to her feints but trying to anticipate his blocks and lead away from them. Seven times their weapons meet this time before Ezio trips her and puts his bare foot to her chest.

"Kill," he says and steps back, holding a hand to lift her up. Teyla takes it, and after stretching she moves to go again.

She learns fast – it is not that she is the poorer fighter, but that she is unused to fighting someone with his style. She adapts to it at remarkable speed and their bouts grow longer, and louder, and it becomes more and more effort to score a killing blow.

"You do not count injuries," Teyla says later, after they have attracted an audience, Doctor Mariani still kindly translating for them. "Nor do you aim to injure. You only aim for killing blows."

"A sword is a tool for killing," Ezio says. "It's not to be used lightly."

Teyla nods. "Are you a teacher?" she asks then with great interest. "You seemed very pleased when I improved."

"It was very pleasing to witness," Ezio says with a smile. "But yes, I suppose I am a teacher of sorts."

She nods and then puts her batons down and bows. "I thank you for your lesson. Tomorrow, I and some other Athosians will be heading out to trade with some of our allies – I would be honoured if you would join us, and receive the Gift of the Ancestors.

Ezio glances at his guards. "The honour would be mine," he says. "Though I do not know if I have yet done anything worthy of receiving gifts for."

Teyla arches her brows and smiles. "The Gift of the Ancestors is bestowed upon all who step through the Stargate – it is the ability to understand others. You would no longer need aid in understanding languages."

"It does have some setbacks," Doctor Mariani adds. "It tends to default to using most commonly used language, not all the languages you can speak – doctor Zelenka, for one, speaks Czech natively, but because he speaks English so often and it's the primary language of the Expedition, the gate translation matrix defaults to English for him. I'm sure that won't be a problem for you, though, since you can't speak English."

"I see," Ezio says, slowly, not sure he fully understands. "Well, I would be honoured to receive such a gift, however it works."

And if it meant he would understand what the people around him were saying, then all the better.

* * *

 

Ezio was given his own room, once the medical doctors of the infirmary were confident in releasing him. It's sparsely decorated with only a bed, a table and a chair, and not very big – little more than a prison cell, but it also has a window that offers a splendid view on the city.

Had Teyla not invited him to join her, Ezio would have been tempted to use the window to escape and find where his weapons, his armour – and the Apple of Eden – had been taken. But if the Gift of the Ancestors really worked as they said it did, then it would serve him better to be patient and bide his time.

So, he only opens the window to listen to the sounds of the ocean, the whistling of distant wind, and is content with that. It's not quite an earthly sound – it lacks the sounds of birds, of ships and boats bobbing on the waves. The waves that lap at Atlantis are the high waves of a great ocean, not the calm ones that break at a shore. It's better than nothing, however. Much better.

Ezio misses the feeling of a quill in his hand.

"Sofia, Claudia," he murmurs, not quite in prayer. "My journey has ended and I have arrived in the city of Atlantis, to find it not quite as empty as Juno must have expected. True enough, it was empty not a year ago, but by some luck – or perhaps divine intervention – people of Earth arrived here a few months before I did, and so I arrived in a city inhabited on the surface of an alien ocean – rather than empty and at the bottom of it…"

He speaks to the wind, not caring if the guards outside his doors hear. He can feel someone watching him and only revels in it, in being seen.

He is no longer alone, and the silence, at last, has been conquered.

* * *

 

Teyla, it seems, has more than invited him to join her – she must have spoken for him as well. The next morning a soldier in a strange vest carrying stranger weapons brings into his room a translucent box, and within it all of Ezio's weapons – even his bombs, though somebody had attached to them a note written in the most strict and perfectly uniform hand Ezio had ever seen, _Do Not Use In Atlantis_.

Ezio nods to the soldier his thanks and then quickly begins donning his armour back on, his opinion of these people greatly increasing. Perhaps they do not see him as an enemy, after all – it's a welcome change, and knowing that Atlantis is an island without land and no way out other than by the use of unknown technology, he's glad of it. Trying to escape Atlantis wouldn't have been easy.

Ezio checks that everything works as it should, that his hidden blades haven't been tampered with, and feels much more at ease, clad in iron and steel once more.

The soldier waits until he's done and then leads him to the cafeteria Doctor Mariani had shown him the day before. Teyla is there, along with some men Ezio had seen briefly but not been introduced to – she motions Ezio to join her at their table. The men don't seem to mind, so Ezio nods his thanks to the soldier accompanying him and joins them.

Judging by their gear, they are prepared to travel as well.

Teyla greets him with words Ezio can't understand and then motions to the tables serving food. Taking her meaning, Ezio serves himself and then joins them back at the table with a tray of food.

Ezio lets their discussion pass him by without paying it much mind – it sounds like they might be talking of him, but failing to understand the language Ezio gives it no heed. Instead he simply enjoys the sounds of people, watching them idly as they go about their morning meal.

People are watching him in turn, and no wonder – he rather stands out in his robes and armour. Seems like warriors and soldiers no longer wear armour, only donning on cloth uniforms and their strange vests with multiple bulky pockets. Items must be easier to carry in such way, since all the soldiers use the same assortment of gear.

Ezio notes everyone who's watching him one after another – and yet the feeling of being watched does not ease, as it usually would when the source was discovered. There is still someone else watching him, somewhere. Someone hidden. After sweeping his gaze over the people in the hall, Ezio turns to his food and lets it slide.

Once they have all eaten, the men rise and Teyla motions Ezio to follow and so he does – though corridors and past many rooms. Again the similarity of different parts of Atlantis strikes Ezio – it would be easy to get lost in here, only because every room and corridor is made as if by using identical pattern. It is all very grand, but part of Ezio misses the carpets and rugs and throws of Constantinople, the draperies on walls, the tapestries.

He doesn't miss the dust, however.

And then they come into a great room, set on multiple levels – a mezzanine with many stairs, at the centre of which is a great open space lit by beautiful stained glass windows, and dominated by a great ring. There are many people there – people in simpler, earthly coloured clothing, preparing satchels she bags for transport.

"Messere Ezio."

"Doctor Weir," Ezio greets her with a nod as she comes to join them on the lower level.

"I trust you have been briefed on what you are about to take part in?" she asks.

"Madonna Emmagan says it is a trading expedition," Ezio comments.

"That it is," Weir agrees with a slightly uncomfortable smile. "And I know we have explained the Stargate to you, but – you know this is not without risks. The planet you're about to visit had had Wraiths attacking it in the past."

Planet. Good lord, it would be some time before Ezio grew used to that. "I am prepared for danger – and grateful that my gear was returned to me," Ezio says. "Thank you "

Weir obviously doesn't feel very comforted by his words. "Hopefully the Stargate will help you understand others – once it does, please follow Teyla's example – and Major Sheppard's orders," she says, motioning to one of the men.

Ezio looks the young man over and nods agreeably, and Weir turns to talk to the man in question. Ezio listens with half an ear, watching the Athosians and searching for his hidden observer.

"Good luck," Weir then says and leaves them to it. Major Sheppard calls something to the upper levels of the mezzanine, and before them all the ring begins to light up, one circling symbol at a time.

And then the Gate erupts like waterfall turned sideways before collapsing into a puddle standing on its side. Though it had all been explained to him… the sight is something else.

Teyla pats him on the shoulder as people begin walking into the puddle and then leads Ezio to the water.

They emerge from it into an evening, with cloudy sky above them, lit by three large moons, one of them purple in hue. Ezio looks up to them, feeling the strangest bout of vertigo and breathes, "Incredible."

"Isn't it just?" the man called Major Sheppard asks with a grin and then calls over the crowd. "Alright, people, this is Teyla's show – we're only tagging along to make friends and for security – which hopefully won't be needed. Teyla?"

She gives Ezio a smile and then turns to the people. "It's an half an hour's walk to the village – let's start moving."

And just like that, with nothing more than momentary bout of dizziness, Ezio can understand them – not just Teyla and Sheppard, but everyone in the group. They quickly begin organising themselves into a caravan, carrying their merchandise on poles and in backpacks and following Teyla into the forest.

"Don't stray off now, grandpa, would hate to have to look for your in this place," one of the men from Teyla's table says and Ezio turns to him. "Just saying," the man says. "Stay close."

"I will endeavour to do so," Ezio answers slowly. "Mister…?"

" _Doctor_. Doctor McKay," the man says and looks at him. "Ezio, was it?"

"Pick up the pace, _Doctor_ McKay," Sheppard says and then nods to Ezio. "Don't mind him, Rodney's just cranky because he couldn't get your ship to work."

"My ship?"

"The magical flying machine you took to get to Atlantis," Doctor McKay explains. "The spaceship, though the clarification that it's a _space_ ship isn't really that important when spaceships are the only types of ships around."

Echo arches his brow. "I see."

"Like I said, never mind him," Sheppard says, grinning. "So, your from Renaissance Italy, right?"

"I hear that's what they call the time period, yes?"

"Did you know Leonardo da Vinci?"

Ezio's brows arch. "You know of Leonardo?" he asks with surprise.

Doctor McKay lets out a scoff. "Now why on Earth would he know da Vinci – of all the millions of people that lived at the time, why would this particular guy know that particular artist? Seriously."

Ezio arches a brow. "Why would I not know him?"

"Because there's no way," McKay says flatly. "The chances are – it's pretty much impossible."

"I see," Ezio says. "I would like to know who I paid for my blades, then, if it wasn't him, but if you say it's impossible, I suppose I have to take your word for it."

McKay looks uncertain. "Wait, what – seriously?"

Ezio hums, noncommittal, and then walks on ahead, ignoring the way McKay sputters after him. He can still feel as though someone is looking at him, and now he's certain it's none of these people.

There's someone here, invisible – following him.

Ezio tugs on his hood, ignoring the sounds of Sheppard and McKay arguing behind him and letting his eyes shift, letting the evening darken and his eyes adapt to its unseen hues.

In the dark world only those gifted with Eagle Vision see, he's not alone. There is a golden, unseen spectre, walking silently beside him.


	4. Chapter 4

"Watch him, will you?" was Major Sheppard's order before he, McKay and Teyla headed off with the Athosians to negotiate and rub elbows with the local traders. It was delivered with Sheppard's usual wincing command, with a sort of half-conveyed apology for _sticking someone with a duty he himself wouldn't like_ along with a healthy heaping of _I really don't want to be giving commands, but here we are_.

Aiden's is kind of almost used to having a complete slacker for a commanding officer. Almost. The guy thinks he's dishing out the shorter stick to the junior officer, but joke's on him – Aiden much prefers this duty to sitting around and talking about the price of grain per basket or bushel or the weight of man, or whatever measuring unit they use around here. Nah, let the head honchos worry about that.

Ezio Auditore is _much_ more interesting – and following around a leisurely old guy as he takes in the sights would be a pretty chill assignment, overall.

"Heard you and Teyla had a match yesterday in the sparring room," Aiden comments, while following Ezio's slow meandering down the main street of the village. "Heard you beat her."

"I did not," Ezio says. "I merely bested her."

"Same thing. No one on Atlantis has managed to do that, you know – not even any of the Athosians. Teyla's been kind of on the top of the food chain," Aiden says, and at Ezio's glance, half hidden under his hood, he realises the guy wouldn't even know what _food chain_ is. "I mean she's the best and has been since the start. You must be damn good to beat her."

"I have had more time to learn, and the styles of fighting are different. She adapted quickly, and in time I have no doubt she will grow more skilled and best me in turn," Ezio says. "From what I see, you do not place much importance on things such as swordplay. None of you carry swords – not even Madonna Emmagan, despite her skill."

"Well," Aiden says and hesitates. "No, back on Earth swords aren't really that big of a thing when it comes to warfare – we got more powerful weapons these days. But since we came to Atlantis…"

Ezio looks at him as he trails away. "Yes?"

It feels a bit like criticising the leadership, but here goes. "I guess I've started to see the appeal," Aiden admits. "I mean, P90 will tear through a wraith, as long as you keep firing long enough, but a sword won't run out of bullets, you know? And it's easier to take off their hands with a sword, probably, than it's with a spray of fire."

"Hm," Ezio answers, nodding, and watching him with a interested, _I'm listening_ sort of tilt to his head.

"And we have limited supplies here," Aiden adds quietly. "I mean, we brought in a lot of ammo, and I mean a lot… but it's still a limited amount."

"So swords would be useful," the old man comments.

"Honestly, I don't see how it could _hurt_ ," Aiden shrugs. He's not the only one thinking that way – the half of the marines on Atlantis are training with Athosians, and the other half is being trained by the other marines. So far swords have, sadly, not been a priority on the important acquisitions list. "So, you know, if you can beat – _best_ – Teyla and know how to use those other weapons of yours… there'd probably be a few guys on Atlantis who'd be interested in sparring."

"Yourself included?" Ezio asks.

Aiden nods and then gives him a wary look – remembering that the guy came from a rather… not so enlightened time period. "Is that a problem?"

Ezio considers him and then looks ahead. "I have taught many men and women in my time – but only the followers of my Creed," he says. "I do not yet know where I stand with the people of Atlantis – or indeed, this time. But I will certainly consider it."

"Oh? What's your Creed then – is it like a religious thing?" Because looking at the guy, in the hood and robes and all, he kind of looks… warrior monk-like. Maybe.

Ezio doesn't answer, looking ahead. "These people seem very unhappy," he comments then.

Aiden looks around. They look like normal Pegasus galaxy people to him – slightly downtrodden, very stressed out, and more than a little suspicious of them. "I think there might have been a wraith raid here, not long ago," he comments and nods. "Look there, that pole? Teyla told me here they put a ring of flowers for every person taken by the Wraith."

The pole is covered in flowers nearly to the midway. It explains why these guys are so eager to trade – with this many people lost, they must have surplus of food.

"I see," Ezio comments and then pauses to look at one young woman, sitting on an ancient looking fountain. She looks exhausted and her hair is sticking every which way – she's also holding what looks like a black and white photograph. Looks like a kid.

Aiden sort of winces, wishing it wasn't so easy to guess what might've happened. The kid had probably gotten lost during the culling, and… yeah.

Ezio must've not made the conclusion, because he sets out towards her, approaching her slowly. "You seem most distressed," he says kindly and sits down beside the woman. "What is the matter?"

Had anyone in Atlantis done that, Aiden's pretty sure the woman would've shouted at them, or cried, or something – there definitely would've been a lot of doubt there, and he can just imagine her demanding to know what they want. But somehow, this time, it doesn't happen.

"My son, Oele," she says, clutching to the picture. "He ran off when the culling happened – to the forest. The village chief says he's lost, that he must've been taken by the wraith – but I saw, I kept an eye on the Darts, they did not go that way! I know he is alive, but no one will help me look for him."

"I am sure they don't mean to be cruel, it seems everyone here has lost much," Ezio comments.

"But I haven't, I know I have – I know Oele is still out there. But I…" she motions to her leg and it's only then Aiden notices that under her skirts, her left leg is a lot bigger than the right. It's been set in a cast – she must've broken it recently. "I tried looking for him, but I can't get very far."

"Perhaps we can help you," Ezio suggests. "How old is your son'?"

"He is but six summers," the woman says and turns to him. "Would you, really? I haven't much to give you in return, few coins alone, but if you – if you could find anything of him…"

"Whatever reward you think is suitable will do," Ezio says and stands up. "This should not take long."

Aiden stares at him incredulously and before he can do more than gape, the guy turns and heads – straight for the forest. "For crying out – Ezio!" he calls, looks at the woman who looks suddenly revitalised and then, muttering under his breath, Aiden runs after Ezio. "Why did you do that – how could you do that? Giving her hope like that, it's mean."

"Is it?" Ezio asks calmly, walking at a brisk pace.

"The culling was days ago – there is _no way_ the kid is still alive," Aiden says. "And – you're not seriously – we really should stay in the village, Major Sheppard –"

"Is busy with his duties, and we might as well do something worthwhile in the meantime," Ezio says, adjusting his bracers. "Can you run in your gear?"

"What – of course I can –"

"Good. Then I trust you can keep up."

And then the guy, who has to be close to _sixty_ and who is also wearing about 25 kg worth of armour and gear… starts running. And he's not running at a leisurely pace either, no, he's really legging it.

Aiden hesitates for a moment and then, sighing, takes a better hold of his P90 so that it won't jostle too much and then sets out after the old man. He thought catching up wouldn't be much of a problem, but no, Ezio is neither slowing down nor waiting for him, and he's already got a good head start on Aiden.

It's almost five minutes before the old man slows down. "How about a little warning next time?" Aiden asks, catching up to him finally on a bit of clearing in the woods. "What are you doing, man, you don't even know what you're looking for."

"I'm looking for a six year old boy running in panic," Ezio says, scanning the underbrush with shadowed eyes. "Who likely got lost in the woods. This way."

"How do you know it's that way?" Aiden demands.

"Because I am using my eyes," Ezio says, walking over and tugging at a spiky branch, showing him. There, stuck on the brambles, is a bit of wool.

"That could've come from anyone, people probably hunt around here," Aiden comments, but goes to investigate. Yeah, definitely man made wool, it's been twisted. "How did you even spot this?"

Ezio just smiles a little, and then continues deeper into the woods, looking around. Aiden sighs and follows.

They've done plenty of rescues since arriving to Atlantis – on their very first day, even, which Aiden is pretty sure was the worst sort of welcome anyone could get to another galaxy. Tracking lost people has also been a surprisingly commonplace part of life. So none of this is precisely unusual or unexpected – honestly, he had expected something to go wrong, because something always _did_.

He didn't expect to watch an old Italian guy climb a tree and then somehow, by some renaissance trick of reading the underbrush, find a passed out kid hiding in a hollowed out space under the roots of a dead tree. If Aiden hadn't just _watched_ it happen and if he didn't know damn well there is no way, he would've thought the whole thing was a set up, Ezio made it seem so easy.

"Hey, whoa, what are you doing?" Aiden demands when Ezio takes out small phial of some murky looking stuff.

"I am going to waken the boy," Ezio says and waves the bottle. "It is smelling salt."

"Um, maybe we should –"

Ezio ignores him and just goes ahead, waving the bottle briefly under the kid's nose before putting the stopper back on – it's pretty obvious it worked instantly. The kid comes to with a shudder and starts coughing wetly, obviously sick and feverish, but definitely conscious.

"Oele?" Ezio asks while the boy looks up in frightened alarm. "I am Ezio, and this is Lieutenant Ford. Your mother sent us to find you."

"Hello. I'm cold," the boy whispers.

"Shit," Aiden says and gets into gear. "He must've been here for days, he's gotta be – here, water," he says, handing his water bottle to Ezio and then quickly getting out a thermal blanket, unfolding it while Ezio helps the boy drink. Though he's obviously pretty confused by the blanket, Ezio moves aside for Aiden to cover the kid up in the thing, wrapping him up like a burrito.

"We better get him back," Aiden says and checks the kid's forehead and his eyes. He's feverish, but it's not dangerously high, and his pupil response looks good. "Hey, Oele? You hungry, buddy? Have you been eating anything?"

"I ate berries – mother showed me, I knew they were safe."

"Well, I got here some very good protein bars – you think you could have a bite to eat?"

While Ezio gathers the kid up to his arms, Aiden offers the kid one of the better tasting protein bars he has. Oele accepts it with very pale, but still functional fingers – thank god Ancients favoured temperate zones with their Gate placement, otherwise the kid might've be worse off.

"Let us get you home now, hm?" Ezio says to the kid, holding him securely against his chest while Oele munches on the protein bar, looking exhausted but relieved. As they walk back, Aiden looks between Ezio and the kid, and – he knows Ezio had nothing to do with the kid's disappearance, but…

"You tracked him down in less than twenty minutes," Aiden points out slowly. "How did you do that?"

"Tracking people down is something of a speciality of mine," Ezio says. "It is always rewarding, to use my talents for good."

Well, that's not ominous sounding or anything. "Well, if I ever lose my keys, I guess I know who to call."

Oele's mother pays Ezio a few coins between sobbing and hugging her boy in relief. Normally Atlantis personnel isn't really supposed to accept personal payment like this, not if it's got actual _monetary value_ – definitely not actual money. It's not a rule though, more of an unspoken bit of politeness, since they're all in the same boat in Atlantis, and it's only right for resources to be shared.

Judging by the ease with which Ezio accepts the payment and how it puts the woman at ease, Aiden isn't sure how to tell him as much without seeming like a complete douchebag. And Ezio isn't exactly officially part of the expedition – he's still more of a guest, so… he lets it slide. What can Ezio even use the few coins on?

"That was a good thing," Aiden says. "What you did, that was – that was good."

"Hm," Ezio agrees and looks around. His eyes land on a man who's looking around what looks like some sort of chicken coop – the walls are empty and the chickens are gone. Humming with interest, Ezio sets out for the man.

And Aiden has the dawning realisation that this is not actually going to be a chill assignment – because it turns out that Ezio Auditore is something of a busybody.

* * *

 

"Where did he get the money from?" Major Sheppard demands, while he and Aiden watch  Ezio haggle… something with one of the local merchants.

"He's been doing chores around the village all the time we've been here, sir," Aiden says and at Sheppard's incredulous look, he shrugs. "Swear to god, sir. Chores. He found a lost kid, gathered up a bunch of escaped not-chickens, helped some guy fix a roof for a bit, he helped some guy find his flown off flag-thing… and also there was a dispute, which he, er – solved," Aiden finishes and coughs.

The solving had been done with a quick punch to a guy's stomach before Aiden had been able to stop him, which Aiden would've been more freaked out about, except it had been pretty effective and gotten the guy back to his senses – he'd been trying to set a house on fire – and… yeah.

It's been a weirdly productive day.

"I see," Sheppard says, incredulous. "And people paid him. You didn't think to tell him that this is not how we do things on Atlantis?"

"Well, to be fair, sir… he doesn't exactly work for Atlantis," Aiden says. "The first time he got paid I was assuming it would be one time thing, so I figured it was fine – and after that… well, it seemed kind of wrong to start criticising him after I'd just let it happen once."

"Uhhuh," Sheppard says, eying him dubiously. "So what is he buying then?"

"I have no idea, sir."

Sheppard makes a face, glances towards where McKay is talking with amused looking Teyla and then marches over to Ezio, Aiden following close behind.

"Please, it is no trouble," Ezio says, motioning to the woman he was talking with.

"I don't know what to say – I can buy a new cart with this, I can – thank you so much," the woman says. "I promise, I won't forget this."

"That is all I wish, to be fondly remembered," Ezio says warmly. "Your wares look well, it would be a shame to see such a business fall under."

"Oh, business – I only make some clothes and bags, it isn't much," the woman says, obviously charmed. "But please, take a look – if there is anything you like here…"

"Whatcha doing there, Mr. Auditore?" Sheppard asks casually, offering the woman a quick smile.

"Doing my part in support of local artistry," Ezio says, motions to the woman. "This is Lady Eljana, she is a leather worker and occasionally a blacksmith and makes most excellent satchels and belts."

"Oh, they really aren't so great," the woman says, coy and delighted. "And I'm not really local – I just came here to do some sales, but then there was the attack and, well… I lost my cart during the culling,"

"The Wraith culled a _cart_?" Aiden asks incredulously

"No, it was broken and set on fire during the chaos," Eljana says and smiles brightly to Ezio. "But now, thanks to sir Ezio, I will be able to afford a new one. I really can't thank you enough."

Ezio simply nods. "I hope your business flourishes in the future."

Sheppard's expression is somewhere between confused, intrigued and worried, as he arches his brows at Aiden. Aiden shrugs, no idea what to say. He's watched Ezio charming the boots off half a dozen people by now, he's almost used to it. Sheppard makes a face at him and then turns to Ezio. "Well, we are all about done here, so unless you have some other _business transactions_ to make…" he throws a smile to the saleswoman.

"No, I believe I am done," Ezio agrees and bows at Eljana. "It was my utmost pleasure meeting you, Lady Eljana."

"If you ever happen to visit Adjanna, come and see me at my shop," she says, holding out her hand. "I have great many more wares on display there."

Ezio takes her fingers gently and kisses her knuckles. "I would be delighted."

Aiden glances at Sheppard and smothers a grin at his slightly affronted look. Ezio doesn't seem to notice, turning away from Eljana and looking at them. "Back to the city, then?"

"Yeah," Sheppard agrees, still making faces at Ezio. "Back to the city."

They head to join Teyla, McKay and the Athosians, who are packing up their things to go. "Did you enjoy your time in the village, Ezio?" Teyla asks politely while shouldering a pole with two heavy bags hanging from each end.

"It was very enlightening," Ezio agrees. "These people seem to have been through much."

"It is a sadly common story around the galaxy – the Wraith are a common threat that plagues us all," Teyla agrees. "But I am glad that your first venture through the gate was a peaceful one."

"Teyla, we've talked about jinxing it," Sheppard says, while grabbing one large basket and lifting it up. "You're not supposed to say things like that – now things are bound to go wrong."

Teyla grins and moves to join the other Athosians while Sheppard moves towards McKay, who is giving some dubious looks to a fruit he's holding – it kind of looks like the mix of a banana and an avocado. "Are we _sure_ this is edible?"

"That's something for the botanist to figure out, McKay, now pick up a box and get a move on."

Aiden grabs something to carry as well, and then looks at Ezio – or rather, the people looking at Ezio. There are a lot of people looking at Ezio, in the village – and Aiden gets a feeling that though Teyla, Sheppard and McKay were the ones to trade… it was Ezio who made an impression on the locals.


	5. Chapter 5

Claudia, Sofia.

I know there is little point in addressing my entries to you, and my writing has become more of a journal than a letter. Yet the pretence gives me some comfort and this act some purpose, rather than being the lonely prattling of a lonelier man, his words thrown into the void. So perhaps I will continue along this line, until better alternative presents itself.

I have been in this time and in this place for a week now. Atlantis day is longer than that of Earth, which confuses my sense of time – they have explained to me it is because of the speed with which the planet spins on its axis. It adds hours to a day I have had some difficulty managing – I have returned to my habit of sleeping several times a day, which I once entertained in Rome. It has bridged the gap somewhat, but should I stay here, I suspect I will have to adapt to the longer day and night.

I do not know if I would like to stay here indefinitely. The city of the Ancients is beyond compare and the people have been kind enough, this I do not disdain… but I find myself a man without task here. True enough, I would have many eager students among the soldiers of Atlantis, and Teyla's people are more keen to learn still, should I choose to become a teacher only. Were I to spend every day in the practice halls, it would not be enough time to teach everyone, for there would be more students left to teach still.

It is not a prospect entirely without appeal. I once considered my own retirement,  leaving my terrible lifestyle and work behind, laying down my blades and perhaps taking up a shovel instead. Yet at the vision of this kinder task, of becoming a teacher and teacher alone… I find myself growing restless with knowledge I could do more, I can do more. Not perhaps for Atlantis – but for people far beyond it, in the Pegasus galaxy.

I have at length spoken with Teyla about the other people of this galaxy, most of them simple, scattered and weary, and I feel that training the soldiers of Atlantis, already well versed in art of warfare… is tutelage wasted on the already proficient.

Atlantis stands on a cusp of great power and knowledge, with unity of men and nations unheard of in my time. And yet, it feels almost as though aimless… and closed off. In a galaxy in need with a terrible war raging upon it, Atlantis holds itself aloof – ruling this great city as their right and sharing it with… none. And I cannot say I find the idea of being a teacher of old martial arts in a city of such prosperity appealing, when there are entire worlds with perhaps a greater need of such skills.

Perhaps that is my own arrogance speaking there, and my history, varied as it is. I am proud of my accomplishments, even if they have been swept away by time, and I was never known as the trainer of soldiers for a reason. Though skilled students and gratifyingly quick to learn, these people are already among the strongest there are – what cause do I serve, in bolstering their strength further?

Perhaps it is the journey of the student I miss the most – to see a beaten man or a woman, down on their luck and hopeless, grow in strength and skill both… to see people better their situation with the strength of their body and will and the quickness of their blade. There are no greater rewards than this – and they do not exist in Atlantis.

They exist out there, in the galaxy ravaged by a great and terrible enemy. Could I truly make a difference for those people that the Wraith now plague? Could I make a noticeable impact on the lives of their worlds? Perhaps not.

But I feel I could do more than this.

My golden companion watches as I write this, silent at my side as per usual. Though I have attempted to engage him in conversation, he does not answer and does not speak – he only follows and watches. I am almost used to it, though the feeling of being always observed is somewhat distracting. I wish he would tell me what it is he wants.

* * *

 

"Excuse me? Are you Ezio Auditore – the Elder from Earth?"

Ezio tears his eyes from the spectre and turns away from the balcony. There is a man standing behind him – an Athosian, judging by his garb. He is tall and long-haired, his voice soft. "Yes, I am," Ezio says. "What can I do for you, Messere?"

"My name is Halling – may I join you?"

"By all means, Messere Halling."

The tall man bows and steps to the balcony, waiting until the door closes behind him. "Teyla speaks highly of you," he comments. "Of both your skill with blades and your manner of speech."

"Madonna Emmagan is kind," Ezio agrees, nodding his head.

Halling nods slowly, thoughtfully. "Madonna – what does this mean?"

"A polite way to address a fine, wise woman," Ezio says. "It means _lady_ in my language. I understand Madonna Emmagan is a leader among your people, as is Doctor Weir."

"She is," Halling agrees, and seems pleased by it and looks at Ezio with even greater interest and with slightly less strain on his expression. "You _are_ different from the other men of Earth," he comments. "I thought she might have been exaggerating, but I see now she was not."

"That, I'm afraid, must be due to the time period I come from – as far as people of Earth are concerned, I am of an older stock," Ezio says wryly. "According to some of my students among them, I am very _old-timey_." Which, apparently, some of them find charming. Ezio has thus begun to lean onto his manners even more – it makes things easier, and people think both more and less of him this way.

They say things they otherwise might not around him, expecting him to not understand – and they are more polite in return. In the beginning some of his students had felt the odious need to boast their _future_ techniques and how much more efficient firearms are in face of swords, trying to establish some sort of pecking order in his training ring. Easiest way to deal with the youthful arrogance was to make it appear completely ridiculous at the face of his conduct.

"I see. Still, you are from Earth – different, perhaps, but your word must carry greater weight with the people of Earth," Halling says.

Ezio glances at him sharply and then sees it. "You have some issue you require help with, Messere Halling?"

Halling hesitates and then moves to the balcony railing, leaning his elbows to it. He looks at the city and bows his head slightly.

"We are… very grateful for the kindness the people here have shown to us. I trust Teyla has told you how we come to this place?" Halling asks and Ezio shakes his head – it had not come up. "Ah. Well, some time ago, our world was attacked by the Wraith. The people here happened to be visiting at the time it happened – they let us escape through the Ring of the Ancestors, and come here, where we might be safe. Athos, our world, has since been taken by the Wraith – several of their hives rest there, and so we cannot return."

"You have my utmost sympathies, Messere Halling," Ezio says. "I know the pain of losing one's home well, and it is not a pain I would wish upon anyone, let alone a friend."

"Thank you," Halling says and sighs. "Since then we have lived on Atlantis, at the grace of the people of Earth –who have kindly offered us a place to stay, food to eat, even work to do. It is a blessing."

Ezio bows his head a little. He says it's a blessing – but he does not speak it as though it is. "It is not an arrangement you find favourable."

"I know here our people enjoy safety the rest of the galaxy does not," Halling says quickly. "It is why Teyla works so tirelessly to keep up our relationship with the people of Earth, as it is only by their kindness and charity we reside here. I know elsewhere we would not be so safe, for the Wraith can and will cull every world out there, in search of more people. Here, people have some thread of hope to fight back…"

"But it is not an equal relationship, between you and the people of Earth," Ezio guesses.

Halling crosses his hands and he seems both frustrated and resigned both. "I do not want to seem ungrateful," he says then, lifting his head. "My son might live freely and safely and without fear here. But… no, it is not an equal relationship. We live at their grace, but it might be called mercy, too. We cannot use the Ring without their permission and say so, we cannot move freely, our culture and our ways are dismissed where they are not useful. We help them trade, but it distances out former allies, who see us come in company and grow suspicious."

Ezio folds his arms and says nothing, considering the news. Halling glances at him and lowers his eyes with a sigh. "Many of our former trading partners have begun to ask if we are here by will, or if we are _kept_."

"And you yourself wonder the same thing," Ezio muses.

"I know, should we choose to walk through the Ring tomorrow, with or without Teyla's say so, they would let us go with little argument," Halling says. "Which, I suppose, is a concept I should be glad of, but…"

But it means their presence here means little, and the people of Earth do not care enough to object or miss them. "You seem to be in a very difficult position, Messere Halling," Ezio comments. "Have you spoken with Madonna Emmagan concerning this?"

"She knows how we feel, she works ever harder to ease our relationship," Halling admits. "But we cannot see things changing – not unless we become like her, set aside our own ways and clothes, and dress and behave as the people of Earth do."

Madame Emmagan does blend in with the soldiers whenever she goes out, wearing their uniforms and carrying their weapons. She has made herself fit to their mould – an admirable skill for an Assassin… but perhaps not for a leader with people to inspire and encourage during trying times.

"Teyla means well, she does well for our people," Halling says quietly. "But the issues between our two people grow ever more difficult."

And the Athosians are outmatched against the weaponry and the training of the people of Earth. "I think I understand your problem," Ezio says slowly.

"Do you, really?" Halling asks and looks at him searchingly.

"Not perhaps from your point of view, but it is a difficult position you are in, this I can understand," Ezio says. "Security and peace at the cost of your individuality and beliefs… there are many people on Earth who were faced with similar choices."

"And how did they choose?"

"Some took the easier path – others, the more difficult one," Ezio says and shakes his head. "I cannot say which one is the better or most just option. What is it you want of me, Messere Halling?"

Halling hesitates, looking away. "Do you see no other option for us – to conform to their methods and habits, or to leave?"

Ezio looks at him. "There are _always_ other options," he says. "Is that what you seek, another option?"

"We would rather not leave," Halling admits. "Teyla is right, in many ways – Atlantis is hope, and I would rather stay than abandon that hope. But this cannot continue."

Ezio nods slowly. Judging by the sound of it, this has been an issue some time, and they have probably tried talking about it to the people in leadership positions, to little effect. Now they try with him, an _Elder,_ which in their culture seems to be position of some power and respect. Compared to the others, he must seem more approachable, being somewhat more familiar with their mode of living, rather than that of the Atlantis Expedition.

This isn't Ezio's struggle… and yet, how had the last times he'd hoped to leave politicking behind worked? Even in Constantinople, where he'd tried to stay apart from the local affairs, he ended up right in the middle of the struggle for the Bayezid throne.

"I will speak with Doctor Weir if I can," Ezio says. "See what I might learn. I can't promise I can help your people, Halling. But I will see what I can do."

"It's more than I could have hoped," Halling says, nodding his head. "Thank you, Elder Auditore."

Ezio nods and watches the tall Athosian leave the balcony. Then he turns his eyes to the golden spectre, who had been watching the interaction with the usual silence. "Have you nothing to add?" Ezio asks.

Like before, the spectre stays silent, only bowing his head slightly, almost apologetically.

Shaking his head, Ezio turns to leave the balcony as well – the golden ghost hopping down from the balcony railing, to follow.

* * *

 

"Messere Auditore – I was just about to come and find you, actually," Doctor Weir says at the sight of him in the control room. "I hear you have been busy training our men?"

"It has been a productive way to spend time, yes," Ezio agrees. "You were coming to find me? That sounds ominous."

"Not at all," she assures him and motions towards her glass box of an office. "Please."

Ezio moves to join her, glancing around idly as he does. The mezzanine room with the Stargate – or the Control room, as they call it here – is one of the most densely populated places in Atlantis, with constant rotation of workers and guards – all of them from Earth. Not a single Athosian is present.

"Doctor Beckett has finished analysing your physical," Doctor Weir says as the glass doors close behind them, sealing them in the very illusionary privacy of her office. "There were some… interesting results."

"Were there?" Ezio asks warily, not entirely sure what she means by _physical_. Doctor Beckett was one of the rare actual medical doctors in Atlantis, however, so it likely has to do with his health. "I feel perfectly healthy."

"And you are – more than. According to Doctor Beckett, you have the health and physique of a man thirty years your junior," Doctor Weir agrees with a smile and motions him to take a seat. "Some old broken bones aside, which I hear all healed perfectly. Healthy as a horse, Carson says."

"I'll take it as a compliment," Ezio says, wryly. He's been likened to a horse before, and rarely is it complimentary. "I trust my good health isn't a cause of concern?" he asks, glancing at the golden spectre – he's hovering by the door, and it seems his attention is on the control room, not the discussion.

"No, not at all. There were some other results to his examinations too, however, which were of interest," Doctor Weir says and squints at him curiously. "Has anyone explained the ATA gene to you? The Ancient Technology Activation gene?"

"There was some talk of it, but I'm afraid it went completely over my head," Ezio admits. "Little of your medical science makes sense to me."

"I can see how it would be difficult. We have the benefit of long education – gene theory is taught when we're fairly young," Weir muses. "How much of it do you understand?"

"This is the first time I hear the words, _gene theory_ , spoken together," Ezio says wryly. "So far my tutelage in more modern concepts has had mainly to do with history, I'm afraid."

"Alright," Weir chuckles and leans back, obviously thinking of how to explain it. "Well, all living things have inside them a set of instructions, which we call DNA and DNA is built of blocks called genes. It's more complicated than this, but that's the basic concept."

"Very well," Ezio agrees. "So, ATA gene is a block in a set of these instructions."

Weir grins at him, pleased. "Exactly. Everyone's set is subtly different – that is why people look and sound different. Now, we get half of these instructions from each of our parents, half from mother, half from father – and with a whole set you can build a whole human. And some of these gene blocks, they go back thousands of generations – like the ATA gene, which came from the Ancients. People who have the ATA gene have an Ancient somewhere in their ancestry, who passed down that gene to their children, and them to their children, all the way down to now."

Ezio nods, though he can't say he understands it. "I see," he says. "And this has something to do with my… physical?"

"Yes," Weir says and leans in a little, watching him keenly. "You have the ATA gene. In fact, according to Doctor Beckett, you might have a lot more than it. Tell me, Messere Auditore, have you ever been ill?"

"I have been laid low by injury many times," Ezio says, smothering the urge to touch his stomach.

"Judging by the amount of broken bones, I would say so – but have you ever gotten _sick_ , without any prior injury?" Weir asks. "Have you ever had a cold, or chicken pox, or anything?"

"I… have always been fairly healthy," Ezio admits, frowning a little. "Is it a concern, after all?"

"No, no a concern," Weir assures, smiling brightly. "Doctor Beckett thinks you might have more Ancient DNA within your genome than any other person – short of actual _Ancients_ – we've ever come across. Enough to have inherited something of their perfect health, maybe even more than that."

Ezio shakes his head, still not quite following.

"Messere Auditore, you have the _blood of the Ancients_ flowing through your veins," Doctor Weir says earnestly. "And not an inconsiderable amount."

Ezio leans back a little, thinking to what had been told to him about the Ancients. They were powerful people, they built Atlantis and the Stargates, they were more highly evolved and eventually they _ascended_ to a higher plane of existence. And then there was what he learned on Altaïr's Vessel, the story of Ancients and the Isu, and how they became estranged.

He'd known, of course, that he was in some ways special. His gift alone told him that, even before he spoke to Those That Came Before. He'd known he was different, and sometimes he'd questioned – he and Leonardo had spent nights, drinking and questioning it. But there had been no answers, until now.

Frowning, Ezio looks away, to the gold spectre, who's watching him with his head cocked to the side. It seems almost sympathetic. "Well, that is interesting," Ezio says and clears his throat. "It's not why I am here, however."

"Oh?" Weir asks and leans back a little, losing some of the excited gleam in her eyes. "Right, you came to the control room with an issue – what is it?"

"An Athosian man named Halling approached me," Ezio says and eyes her closely. "He has an… issue with how the Athosians are being treated, I understand."

"… ah," Weir says, the good humour fading from her face, replaced by discomfort. "It has been something of an… uncomfortable fit. We're still getting used to things, here on Atlantis."

"It has been months, from what I understand," Ezio comments mildly.

Weir sighs and looks down. "I understand the issue the Athosians have," she says. "And I want you to know I am trying everything to figure out a more comfortable solution, that will benefit everyone. There is still so much of Atlantis we don't know, and lot of the city is damaged and dangerous – some restriction is necessary. Our people are restricted to certain areas too, it's not just the Athosians."

Ezio nods, agreeing, and waits for Weir to continue.

"Fact to the matter is, there aren't many alternatives," Weir admits. "We have to maintain order in Atlantis and follow protocol, otherwise we'll make a terrible mess of things – and it will take only one slip here, for things to go wrong. In fact, we've had slips, several, due to breach of protocol. And out there, in the Pegasus Galaxy…" she trails away and shakes her head. "Many have suggested finding the Athosians a new home, but there aren't any safe worlds out there I could send them to with good consciousness. Nowhere is safe from the Wraith."

"So they must stay here, under your boot heel?" Ezio comments, arching a brow.

Weir frowns. "Never under my boot heel," she says sharply.

"That is how they feel," Ezio says. "You control this room, you control the Stargate, their access to it is dependant on your word. This restricts their freedom. In their situation, would you not feel under the heel of someone else?"

She clasps her hands together, looking deeply uncomfortable. "It's not so black and white," she says, frustrated. "We have the security of this city to consider. If we let anyone just come and go as they choose…"

"No, I understand," Ezio assures her. "It is your military base, so of course you must maintain control. That is not how you present it to the Athosians, however, and so they maintain hope of freedom here. They see Atlantis for the city it appears to be – not as your castle."

"It's not _my castle_ ," Weir says, horrified.

"No? Atlantis is a military base with towers, walls and a moat that runs across the world," Ezio comments, giving her a pointed look. "Where only you and your people and your soldiers have power and control, which you alone command. I hear you even have prisons, here. How is this not a castle?"

Weir is blinking at him, looking very put off.

Ezio nods and stands up. "I thank you for the information concerning my blood. It is… enlightening," he says and heads to the door. "Now, were you to ask for my advice, I would suggest you to put out the flame of false hope you have kindled in the Athosians. Claim Atlantis for your people and plant your flag, rather than pretend it might have a place for them also. It will be kinder by far."

Weir doesn't say anything as Ezio brushes past the golden ghost and out of her glass office. It's a moment before the ghost follows him, and Ezio gets the distinct impression it's giving him a look. Ezio glances at him and then looks ahead.

"Sometimes," he says, his voice low. "These things take a little _push_."

As he's exciting the control room, Ezio glances over his shoulder. At his side the ghost does the same.

In her office, Weir has her head in her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wraps self in Ezio's voice like in a blanket*


	6. Chapter 6

Elizabeth has taken to going to the balconies to think. She's not alone in this – the many balconies of Atlantis have become gathering and meditation places for many, they've gone so far as to set tables, chairs, even pillows on the more popular ones for people to better spend time there. And who could blame anyone – in a city already beautiful, the view out there is beyond anything.

She still misses plant life, occasionally. Trees, flowers, just grass. The only greenery in Atlantis is in the greenhouses and the botanical laboratories, and though Elizabeth takes any excuse to visit, just to see a little bit of green, usually she doesn't have the time.

Though one of these days she might just steal away a plant or two, to sit on her desk.

Sighing, Elizabeth moves closer to the balcony railing, leaning her elbows to it and watching the distant waves lap at the edges of the city. She knows everything she can of it – everything they have managed to uncover and add to their own files. Every new translated file, every new bit of discovery or theory that goes into the Atlantis local servers, she reads religiously.

The city is exactly 5.73 kilometres at its longest diameter, with 132 distinctive buildings and 54 auxiliary storage buildings. All together it has over 40 _million_ square meters of space, in the buildings alone, with additional 12403 square meters of open space along the piers. Of the city they currently know about 32%, in terms of what which part of it was for, and of that over a half was educated guesswork. In total, Rodney's estimation of the city being about the size of Manhattan was accurate.

The 142 people of the Atlantis Expedition are barely a blip in the city's potential inhabitancy. The city once housed the population of hundreds of thousands of Ancients, maybe even millions. In light of that, the Atlantis Expedition is rather wasting space, as it were.

Sighing, Elizabeth clasps her hands together, watching the horizon and trying to correlate visions and hopes and dreams. There had been many potential outcomes, to their coming there. Finding the city empty was the ideal result, for which she had been _so relieved_. Finding it inhabited by living Ancients was a close second, only less great due to the fact that should Ancients still inhabit the city, she could not see how they would take to humans invading their space. Truth be told, she doubts they would've stomached it, and whatever outcome would have followed would've been difficult, no matter which way one would slice it. Now… perhaps that would've been easier to handle, after all.

She'd been naïve, taking this job, being so excited about it. After her glimpse of Stargate Command, and then running the Antarctic Outpost, she'd gotten the false idea that this would be something similar. Of course she'd examined options, considered unfavourable outcomes – but somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd entertained that thought. That she had experience now, that she could do it, that she knew what she was getting into.

But the thing is, she'd thought she'd be doing what she'd been doing back _then_. Running the Antarctic Outpost was very much a diplomatic position, managing the relations between IOA member nations, and the egos and personal issues of people on the base. Most of her job had been in meetings, in conferences and in bureaucracy – in interviews for members and negotiations for equipment and rights. That was work she _knew_ how to do.

Almost all her career, she'd been working with politics… but she'd never been a politician herself. In fact, it had served her better to stay out of politics as much as she could, to present a neutral party and unbiased view point on any negotiation she entered. As such, she'd never managed people, not until Stargate Command – she'd never held a leadership position, and she'd certainly never been voted into any governmental position.

Even a small town mayor would have more experience to run Atlantis with than she does.

It's small bit of comfort to know that IOA and SGC hadn't done any better – they'd assigned this job to her, thinking, _off-world base_. They'd heard the words "Ancient City" and "Atlantis" and "City of the Ancients" and yet somehow no one had thought, "it's going to be a colony." It shows in everything they do and they have, now. The food rations, that started running short after three months. The equipment, which is perfect for a military base but will do nothing about their everyday supply year or two in, when uniforms start running low, medicine runs out.

And she still runs it as a base – not as a colony – because that's the mindset she started with, and it's been easier to continue along those paths because that's the framework everyone else is working from, too. It's easier to walk downhill, after all, rather than starting to push the boulder up the hill.

They should have done better. They should have prepared better. And for god's sake, they should've brought with them someone with experience in elected managerial positions, preferably at least at a municipal level. But they hadn't, and this is what she has to work with – herself, with only second hand experience, and none of it with running a _colony_.

Elizabeth lifts a her head and then looks over her shoulder – it's Major Sheppard, stepping into the balcony.

"There you are," the Major says. "People out there are starting to be a little nervous, you know – never a good thing, when you come out here to brood."

Elizabeth offers him a feeble smile and then looks out to the city. "Better out here than in there," she says and pushes away from the railing, straightening her back. "Is something the matter?"

"Aside from the usual, not really," Sheppard says and steps closer. "But like I say, people are getting antsy."

"So they sent you to figure out what's up?"

"Apparently that's part of my job," he says, half joking – though he's not wrong, it is. "So, what is up?"

Elizabeth thinks about the unwritten rules she'd laid out for herself early on. To maintain morale, first and foremost, to never show panic, to never give negative impression, to never let anyone sink to depression or defeat. It had carried them through a couple of disasters already, and it's tempting to go with it now, to put up a strong front, deflect, and then retreat somewhere more private to ponder her stressful thoughts, where it might not affect anyone else's mood.

… but she has been doing that since the start, and where had it got them? Atlantis is as they started – the only thing that has changed is that they've run out of food, and over half of the city needs psychological treatment for stress and probably the budding post traumatic stress syndrome.

"The Athosians," Elizabeth says then.

"What now?" Sheppard asks, immediately going awkward and suspicious. "They're good people and they were cleared of suspicion – if Bates is getting uppity about them again, I'm going to -"

"That's not it, John. They're unhappy," Elizabeth says and turns to face to him. "With an entirely just cause – we've restrained their freedoms to a breaking point and lost most of the trust we had with them, Teyla notwithstanding. It's gotten to the point that now, rather than come to me or you or anyone of us… they went to Ezio Auditore."

Sheppard's eyebrows arch. "What – him? Why?"

"Elders are respected in Pegasus Galaxy," she shrugs. "It takes something special to grow old here, after all – and he's different from us, more like them than like us."

"And what, he got up your face in behalf of the Athosians?" Sheppard asks, wary.

"He pointed some things out," Elizabeth says quietly, leaning back against the railing and folding her arms. "He says I run this city as though it's my castle, and I should stop giving the Athosians false hope about ever being _free_ here."

Sheppard opens his mouth, but obviously can't come up with a reassuring argument to make, only looking uncomfortable. Elizabeth arches a brow at him. "So you think so too."

"Well," he says. "I'd hoped things would change, eventually – that this is just… you know… growing pains," he says and shrugs awkwardly. "But honestly, I thought Atlantis would be more Babylon 5 and Deep Space 9 and little less…" he searches for a franchise. "Little less _Earth_ , I guess."

"Life isn't science fiction," Elizabeth says with a wry smile.

"Well, we live in a giant floating city which is also a _spaceship,_ " Sheppard points out. "So who can really say."

Elizabeth blows out a breath and then looks at him. "What do you think our situation here really is?" she asks. "Beyond the trappings of military and the IOA mandate – where do we stand, in the Pegasus galaxy?"

Sheppard looks a little taken aback by that and then immensely uncomfortable the way he always is, when situation forces him to actually _think_ things. The man has taken the act of playing down to an art form, sometimes – but Elizabeth has worked with him long enough now to know how much of that is fake.

Eventually, Sheppard speaks. "Well. It's not good," he says and Elizabeth gives him an unimpressed look. He huffs and continues. "We're outgunned, outmatched and _stranded_ in a galaxy we don't know much about yet, it's not good," he says. "The Athosians have been a big help there – most of our best missions came from them, they gave us the locations. Thanks to them, we might still have food to eat, come next month. And I think if we want to keep on living here, maybe even being a part of this galaxy and not just interlopers… we need _more_ of that, not less."

He's thinking of Sergeant Bates' appeal of finding a safe planet for the Athosians to _relocate_ to.

"You think we should change our mandate?" Elizabeth asks.

"Some of the edicts could take a little loosening, is what I'm saying," Sheppard says with a grimace. "And some attitudes could use a readjustment, too."

Elizabeth snorts and then looks away, thinking. The Athosians have been invaluable, no one can deny that, not even Sergeant Bates. And the thanks she's given them was definitely not worth the service they had provided. She'd added Teyla to the leadership team hoping that would be enough, but obviously it hasn't been – the Athosians still feel they're being treated unfairly. And she can't deny they are right.

Part of her still wants to fall back on the necessity of securing the city, as it has been working so far, but… perhaps it's time to consider some things concerning their expedition. She can't run Atlantis as an outward base of _Earth_ forever… and she doesn't want to run it as her castle, either.

"I need to think this over a little more," she says quietly. "But I think it might be time for a general meeting to discuss the mandate of Atlantis, long term."

"I'll put the word out, get people prepared," Sheppard says, peering at her. "You're still the one in charge, you know. And it's for a damn good reason. No one here would have it any other way."

Elizabeth smiles faintly at that. "Thank you, John," she says, and doesn't say _sometimes I doubt that very much_.

* * *

 

Before the general meeting, Elizabeth seeks out Halling, Teyla – and Ezio Auditore, to sit down with them informally. Halling is immediately concerned and Teyla seems a little worried – Ezio Auditore sits down without expression beyond mild interest, giving nothing away.

"Thank you for joining me," Elizabeth says. "I want you all to know this is only an informal discussion – I simply wanted to sit down and talk though some opinions here, and to hear your thoughts. I hope you can be candid with me – for as long as you like, this will only be between us."

"What is this about, Elizabeth?" Teyla asks, looking between Halling and Ezio Auditore.

"It has been brought to my attention that the Athosians aren't satisfied with their situation on Atlantis," Elizabeth explains, which makes Teyla look both uncomfortable and a little resigned – she'd known, and she's hurt they hadn't come to her first. "I was hoping we could discuss the reasons and what we can do to alleviate the situation."

"I appreciate that you're taking the time to consider it," Halling says, somewhat neutrally.

"Thank you for the patience you've shown in this, Halling – I know it has taken perhaps too long," Elizabeth says and crosses her hands. "Now, can you tell me the issues the Athosians have, and what you would like to be done to solve them?"

Halling nods, casting a look at Teyla and at Ezio and then speaking, level and calm, through everything. Nothing of it is surprising, and everything Elizabeth had heard before. Their restricted access to the city, to its systems – to the Stargate and to travel in general. The way their voices are being ignored and dismissed – this, Elizabeth feels, might be directed at her, as she has on more than one occasion dismissed the Athosian interests in favour of the more dire situation at hand.

"Due to the nature of our situation here, I can't just grant free access to the Stargate – it's not just you, but our own personnel as well," Elizabeth says regretfully. "Gate travel uses a lot of energy, that's why every time it is activated it has to be carefully considered. And there are security concerns."

Halling's open expression closes up. "Of course," he says.

Realising she's used the excuse of _security concerns_ to deny the Athosians some dozen time before, Elizabeth clears her throat. "You do have access to the Gate though, the same way everyone else does – through appeal. And we have granted you the freedom to visit your allied worlds before."

"It is the fact that we have to _appeal_ for these things that grates on us, Doctor Weir," Halling says. "We are grateful for what access we are given, but the fact that these are privileges _granted_ , and not rights owed to us…"

"Rights," Elizabeth repeats. "You consider Gate travel a _right_."

"It is the right of all free people of the galaxy," Halling says, growing more firm now. "The system of Rings was the gift of the Ancestors to all people of the galaxy – to restrain one's access is to restrain one's right of freedom and movement."

Teyla makes an uncomfortable face. "It is how it is seen on many worlds, yes," she admits. "That is why the Stargates are usually in open spaces and easy to access, rather than indoors and in restricted facilities. The ability to use the Stargate is the Ancestor given right of all."

"I see," Elizabeth muses. She'd… not realised. To them Stargate had always been a sort of dangerous luxury because of how difficult, expensive and dangerous it was on Earth – and it's not that far off from that, on Atlantis, where every day they get closer and closer to running out of power. The Naquadah generators would sustain them for perhaps a year, in total, but eventually…

But of course it wouldn't be like that for the people of the galaxy, who had lived all their lives with open Gate network and freedom to access it whenever they liked to. Even on Athos, the Stargate had simply stood out in the open – no one had even guarded it.

Elizabeth hums. "Then how about an allotted number of Stargate travels per, say, week?" she asks. "We have to be frugal with power, but we could do that much."

"And we could choose the destination freely?" Halling asks.

"Within limits, of course – and there would be the usual security check ups before and after, same as with the exploratory teams," Elizabeth says. "Obviously a proper agreement has to be drawn, with agreed upon rules, but if this is something you might be interested in…"

"I'm sure my people would be pleased with such an arrangement," Teyla says, smiling.

Halling, however, shakes his head. "It could do for a start, but it doesn't resolve our other issues," he says. "Nor the general discontent that is brewing among our people. For as long as you continue to shun us to the side…"

Elizabeth sighs. "I hear what you're saying," she says. "But Atlantis is very dangerous currently, so much of it is unexplored. We've already run into life threatening situations inside the city – and our work here is very delicate. The Athosians are, and should be, included wherever they may be, I understand that, and I hope we can integrate you further into the city activities, but fact to the matter is… you don't have the expertise to do the work."

"Then teach them," Ezio Auditore says. "They are obviously capable of learning – I am teaching great number of them combat skills, and they are quick and eager students."

Elizabeth hesitates and squeezes her hands together. "That is one way to do it, yes," she agrees with a sigh. Problem is, education is time and effort intensive, and there is not a person on Atlantis at loose ends – they don't have the money or human resources to start a _school._

Saying as much, she is faced with the old man giving her a slow, almost confused look. "There are many masters here – scholars and engineers of great intellect and skill," he says. "Do they never take apprentices?"

"The apprentice system of your time was discontinued long ago – our modern education system is considered more efficient," Elizabeth admits. "I know you had universities back in your time – they have became the staple of education these days, to great effect."

Ezio shakes his head. "Perhaps so, but you said you do not have the time or resources to set up such systems. I assume this is because all potential teachers must also work, yes?"

"I cannot in good consciousness pull anyone away from their tasks, no," Elizabeth agrees.

"Then surely the older system would help their work as well, to have apprentices assisting them with their tasks," he comments. "I have seen many great works by many great masters only succeed because they had equally great many eager assistants – here I have observed your masters working alone, and often under great strain."

Elizabeth blinks and then leans back. She can't quite imagine Rodney stomaching the idea of taking students. But assistants – or as he would no doubt see it, _minions_ … "Hm," she says. "It's definitely an idea."

Halling seems a little concerned though. "Would these apprentices be expected to conform to your standards?" he asks warily, casting a look at Teyla – who is wearing Atlantis Expedition uniform.

"I think that could be examined on case by case basis," Elizabeth offers and considers him and Teyla. "Would Athosians be interested in learning our skills and knowledge, if we did set up an apprentice system of some kind?"

"I know many who are eager to learn," Teyla admits. "It has been proven you know many things we do not – learning from you would only benefit our people."

"So as long as it is considered carefully, and without the expectation that we should all become like you," Halling says slowly. "Our culture might not mean much to you, but it is important to us."

"It is important to us as well, Halling, I promise," Elizabeth says. "No one here would wish you to conform."

"In that case," Halling says. "Perhaps we can come to some kind of compromise, after all."

* * *

 

The talks weren't definite, and Elizabeth would still have to convince others, but for now it feels like they might be getting somewhere. She's also thinking of adding Halling into the leadership team – making it less formal and more of a… city council, perhaps. It's early days, but she sees it now – it's time to stop managing a _team_ and start governing a city, and for that the Athosians would need a representative. And Teyla, it seems, might not be enough.

Halling is very firmly a traditionalist, as Athosians go, though. Giving him a voice during the managerial meetings might soothe some tempers – if she can make sure it doesn't spike others, on the Expedition's side. But that… that would be the work she is actually somewhat familiar with.

"Doctor Weir, if I may have a word?"

Elizabeth looks up and then smiles. "Messere Auditore," she says. "Of course – what can I do for you?" Hopefully, it wouldn't be another issue for her to deal with, but if it was…

The old man steps to her side, looking around. "I am glad to see you choosing another path for this city," he says. "It seems a great deal of space, for people so badly set apart."

"A not so subtle dig at our isolationist tendencies?" Elizabeth asks and smiles wryly. "Were you ever a leader, Messere Auditore?"

"Yes," the man agrees. "Once I was the lord of a fortress – far smaller one than Atlantis, but the number of people far greater. Later I was the Mentor of my Brotherhood – I commanded hundreds of men and women."

That's… actually a little bit of a surprise. "You did? What kind of Brotherhood was it?"

"I would rather not think of it in the past sense – with some hope, it might yet still exist on Earth," Ezio muses and shakes his head. "That is not what I wished to discuss, however. Your intention of introducing an apprenticeship system – are you serious concerning it?"

"It needs some tweaking, obviously, and we need to consider candidates carefully, of course," Elizabeth says. "But if we can get it off the ground properly, I think it might benefit Atlantis more than we probably know."

"Should I be welcome to stay on Atlantis," Ezio says. "And the apprenticeship system become the norm…"

"Of course, naturally you're welcome," Elizabeth says quickly. "We wouldn't have it another way."

Ezio nods gratefully. "In that case, I too would like to join the system – not as a student, of course," he clarifies. "But I too would like to take on apprentices. Preferably, from off world."

Elizabeth stops at that, turning to him with confusion. "Off world? What do you mean?"

"My talents are what they are – and people on Atlantis are already skilled fighters. Teaching them, I preach to the choir," Ezio comments. "But from what I have heard, it is not so in many other worlds, especially not on many worlds the Athosians are allied with. If my tutelage might make any difference for their struggle against the Wraith, I would like to do it."

Elizabeth eyes him with interest, wondering. Ezio does come across as sort of religious figure – almost like a priest, a monk. He's well-spoken, charismatic, commanding – certainly she could see him giving a sermon, with that voice of his. But he's also a fighter, and not a poor one at that. Some sort of warrior monk, then?

"We aren't here as missionaries, Messere Ezio," Elizabeth says slowly. "In fact, part of the Atlantis Expedition's mandate was to show a certain religious openness, and not to try and impress our own religious beliefs on other people, no matter what their religious beliefs might be."

"I only wish to teach people to fight for their causes and their people," Ezio says. "I am not religious by nature. My faith lies only in my blade – not in gods or spirits."

"I see," Elizabeth says, still a little dubiously. "But you just said you come from – and led – a _Brotherhood_.

"Yes," Ezio agrees simply. "A Brotherhood of Assassins."


	7. Chapter 7

Ezio steps into the training hall to find some marines there already, stretching or practicing against each other. They greet him varyingly with "Good morning," and "Morning Ezio," and in one case "Good morning, Elder," which catches his interest, but overall the greetings are a little more subdued than usually. The cause isn't hard to find.

There is an observer in the hall today, a man in military colours – who shows no sign of preparing to take part in the practice. Ezio has seen him from the side, but not talked to him yet – Sergeant Bates, the security officer of the city, is often busy, Ezio has found, and has not been particularly interested in Ezio. Not until now, it seems.

"Good morning, everyone," Ezio says, moving to the side. Though in the beginning he'd preferred to practice in full armour, as that is the manner in which he fights, he's since come to understand it's not feasible in the training hall – for one, it tires him early, and for other, it might cause injuries in his students, as they attempt to land hits on metal. Once now, man has suffered an injury that way.

Maybe one day he can encourage people here to acquire armour of their own, but for now, he simply takes off his own instead, setting them on a stand one of his Athosian students had fashioned for him, hanging every piece of metal upon the frame, before opening his robes and draping them over the armour along with his belt. It leaves him in breeches and shirt, but that tends to be preferable training gear, for these people.

Should he get the opportunity of taking on proper students, however, it would be different.

"Pair up," Ezio calls, taking one of the practice swords. "And – Markham, would you like to face against myself?"

"Absolutely," the young marine says, jogging the few steps to face him, bowing slightly. He's already holding a practice sword and is quick to take a fighting stance. "Ready when you are, sir."

"We'll start warming up with parries today," Ezio says, and takes a stand as well, sword at the ready. "Choose your role and go. Markham – attack me."

The training has fallen into a comfortable pattern now. Ezio begins by teaching a new concept, a new set of moves – and then the rest of the session is spent practicing these moves either in what one of his students calls _katas_ , or in on one-on-one duels, with Ezio himself rotating between his students, facing them one by one to gauge how well they are picking up what he's teaching them.

Though the arrangement of students varies according to their duties on Atlantis, Ezio has learned to trust that even when a student misses a session, they will pick up the skills taught from others somewhere along the way. In that way, teaching the men and women of Atlantis is a delight – especially the marines. They are very keen students, and now that the worst of the bluster and arrogance has passed, their dedication to learning is very professional.

Every man and woman on Atlantis, Lieutenant Ford had told him, had been selected for flexibility and improvisation – the best of their crop, as it were. Still volunteers, of course – but it takes a certain sort of person to volunteer for a mission such as the Atlantis Expedition.

"Except, you know… sometimes it kind of feels like people forget that," Ford said, almost embarrassed and guilty to be admitting it. "If you ask the scientists, we're all just dumb grunts, you know? But everyone here's at least got their bachelors," whatever that meant, "And everyone here knows what it takes to make it when you go through the Stargate. We've all read reports – and some of us were part of SGC. We didn't come here thinking it would be _easy_."

The dissent on Atlantis, Ezio has come to learn, isn't only between the Expedition and the Athosians – there are points of contention between the people of Earth too. And their leadership.

Sword fighting still has an edge of _entertainment_ to them, occasionally, because it's not yet taken seriously – but Ezio can tell, a lot of his students are learning this skill with the hope and certainty that one day knowing might save their lives. That's partially why Ezio keeps teaching them, even though they are already skilled fighters in other ways.

Part of the reason is because he doesn't want to fall out of practice himself.

They move onto the portion of sparring, and Ezio takes a break to drink water from the fountain in the corner of the room – this is when Sergeant Bates approaches him.

"Mr. Auditore," he says. "I am Sergeant Bates, the Chief of Security on Atlantis – I would like to ask you some questions."

Ezio glances at the man, taking in his posture – it's hostile, restrained, stiff. Then he glances at his students – few glance their way, but most hold their attention, outwardly, on their practice. The whole room is listening, however.

"Go ahead," Ezio says and turns to the water fountain.

"You claim you come from the 15th century Earth, correct?"

Ezio takes a drink, considering the words at length and then straightens up. "16th, I understand is the definition," he says, turning to Bates. "The year I left Earth was 1512."

"Right," Bates says. "16th century. And what was it you did back then, Mr. Auditore?"

Hm. Judging by the man's tone of voice, it doesn't matter what he says or does. Bates has already selected his point of view and is likely to stick to it – he's likely only looking for confirmation of his suspicions and will disregard everything else.

"You think me a threat, Sergeant Bates?" Ezio asks.

Bates narrows his eyes. "Why don't you tell me?" he says. "You made some _claims_ to Doctor Weir – I have my doubts."

"Yes, I can see that," Ezio agrees wryly and turns to face the man. "What I did was kill people, Sergeant Bates – with extreme proficiency."

Bates' eyes narrow – it's exactly what he wanted to hear, it seems. "So you're a murderer," he says, scoffing. "Why shouldn't I just throw you in the brig?"

"It would be difficult to train your men from a brig," Ezio comments. "And from what I hear, you would need some cause – as far as I know, I haven't done anything to earn such a punishment."

"You just said you killed people."

"Yes. Almost five hundred years ago," Ezio agrees mildly. "I understand there's a concept called statute of limitations, these days, which applies to many crimes – five hundred years  surely makes all mine a moot point. As it is – these were crimes committed in countries that no longer even exist."

Bates looks a little taken aback by that.

Ezio smiles wryly. He'd known there would be some push back to his claim, but he had not made it without some consideration – and without asking questions. The anthropologists and historians of the expedition had been very helpful in understand the legality of his situation. Even if there was a court that _could_ judge him on Atlantis… the lawfulness of it is _iffy_ , as one helpful scientist said.

"I have a unique skill set, which I thought your people – and people of this galaxy – could make a use of," Ezio says plainly. "It is not as if Wraith can be negotiated or reasoned with. They will only stop once killed, yes?"

Bates makes an incredulous face at him. "And you think going at them with _swords_ and _knives_ is better than just using a proper firearm?" he asks sarcastically.

Ezio considers the man curiously. "I don't need to teach anyone the use of firearms – I think you're all already proficient in this," he says. "But I also think it is stupidity to go into a fight with only one method of dealing with your opponent. Say he has a shield capable of deflecting bullets – something I hear exists and is fairly commonplace. Then how will you deal with him?"

"I'm sure we'd figure out a way," Bates says flatly.

"Obviously," Ezio says and nods to his students. "That is why these men and women are learning from me, yes?"

Bates harrumphs at that, folding his arms. "Well," he says, casting a look at the marines. "Since you are so certain of your abilities – why don't you prove them?" he says.

"Excuse me?" Ezio says, looking at him.

"Join a mission, go through the Stargate," Bates says. "Multiple times a week Stargate teams are faced with Wraith off world and end up needing backup – the next time this happens, you will join the backup team, and we will see if your _skills_ are of any use."

No one in the room is even pretending not to be listening and watching anymore – they've completely forgotten sparring. Judging by the looks on their faces, they aren't sure how to react to what they're hearing, either – but disbelief seems universal. At a guess, his students feel Bates is going too far.

"Very well," Ezio says. "I'd be delighted."

Bates narrows his eyes. "Good – I'll make the suggestion to Doctor Weir and Major Sheppard," he says and looks at the men and women in the room. "As you were," he says, and then stalks out of the room.

Ezio looks after him and then glances at the golden ghost leaning to the wall beside the door. No reaction from him. Hm.

"Sir," one of the marines says. "It's really risky, joining the backup teams – they have the highest mortality rate of every team on Atlantis. He shouldn't just…" she trails away, looking uncomfortable.

"All the more reason to give them a hand," Ezio says and shakes his head. "Let's get back to training."

* * *

 

Doctor Weir approaches him on the matter, of course, but Ezio assures her he is willing and even eager to meet the Wraith. She's been a little wary of him since he'd explained to her what his Brotherhood was – it is telling, in many ways, that she didn't ask many questions. But she still seems to see him in more positive than negative light, which is promising.

"I would prefer to do my part, and not hide here in safety, where my skills fall fallow, unused," Ezio says.

"Fighting the Wraith is not your duty, it is no one's duty," Doctor Weir says. "It's an unfortunate reality we have to live with, but it's not something I, or Sergeant Bates, or anyone, can force you to do."

"I promise you – you are not," Ezio says and looks at her. "I told you of my Brotherhood for a reason – that you might make use of me, or failing that, I could seek a place where I might make use of myself. This is the reason I was honest."

And because he'd hoped to start a new Brotherhood here – one that no longer sank its blade into humanity, but defended it from what might threaten it. It was perhaps a naïve wish to have, sentimentality of an old man… but Assassins had forever stood for the Free Will of Mankind, and such thing could not exist here, under threat such as the Wraith.

"If I cannot be of use here," Ezio says quietly. "Then Sergeant Bates might be right in wishing me gone."

Doctor Weir looks at him and then bows her head. "I would rather you stayed," she says. "Until we can figure this out. Atlantis is changing, the way we run things here is changing. Perhaps… perhaps there will be a place for your Brotherhood here, I don't know yet. But I would rather you survived until we can figure it out."

"I intend to. Now will you let me join the backup team?"

* * *

 

The chance to set off world with Atlantis marines comes sooner than Ezio thought – the very next day. A team off world, consisting mostly of botanists on a mission to explore the local crops and soil composition, are attacked by Wraith along with the village they are in. Teams AR5 and AR7 are to be sent out – along with Ezio, of course.

"You'll be joining with us on this, sir?" the team lead of AR7, Williams, asks with a look of mixed concern and pride, as Ezio enters the… _Puddle Jumper_.

"Looks like," Ezio agrees, looking around in the strange vehicle. He's been introduced to the Puddle Jumpers, of course, and warned _not to_ do anything within them, as he has the skill to activate the vessel's systems – but he's never yet flown on one. He had not realised they were so crowded. "What should I expect?"

"Wraith in the air and Wraith on the ground," team lead of AR5, Stanley, says. "Two darts, going by our latest intel – and the Wraith on the ground are picking by hand people for the culling."

"Is this unusual?" Ezio asks, shifting to make space for his golden ghost, as around them the vessel begins to move.

"A little, but it's happened before. They're trying to leave a breeding population behind," Stanley says, grimacing. "Grabbing the adults and leaving the kids to grow up and repopulate."

"That is barbaric."

"That's the Wraith for you. With any luck, we'll get there soon enough to stop the culling before it gets too bad, but…" Williams grimaces and checks his gun. "Better get ready, we're probably going in hot."

Going through the Stargate inside a vehicle is even more bizarre than walking through it had been, but it's certainly quicker. The standing puddle washes through the ship and then they're off – past the others and through the lone window in the ship, Ezio can see clouds careening by as they take to the sky and then – then there's impact.

"Minor damage!" someone reports. "We're cloaked now, should make it to the village without issue – the dart is making pursuit, but it's going at a wrong angle, should be good to land. Everyone get ready to disembark. Twenty seconds."

Ezio flexes his hands and gets ready, while around him the marines check their guns and get ready to take aim. Among them, the golden ghost stands awkwardly slumped and seems somehow reluctant. Ezio considers it and then turns his attention away – whatever the spectre's issue is, now is not the time to be distracted by it.

They are released into chaos.

The village is not much different from the one Ezio visited with Major Sheppard's team – the buildings are simple and the streets are bare dirt, sodden stiff by many generations. There is a building on fire, and people are screaming in the distance – from the alley where the Puddle Jumper had landed Ezio can see Wraith warriors stationed in a square, standing over a crowd of humans, obviously rounded up and prepared for the culling.

 Ezio had been shown images of the Wraith so he could recognize them – but how they look in the pictures and even in daylight is not at all how they look in the eyes of an eagle.

The Wraith _radiate_ with hot red malice. Ezio has never seen such an aura on anyone – it is so powerful he can see it through walls, can see the Wraith on the other side of the village. Their powerful aura flares out like flames, oppressive in its sheer malevolence – it lights up the people they are terrorising, and Ezio can hear their cries even clearer.

As the Marines move to deal with the Wraith on the square, Ezio slips away – the golden ghost trailing after him.  Behind him, he hears gunfire, he hears the Jumper taking into the air, hears a screech of a terrible machine in the air – the Wraith Dart. Taking to the rooftops here would be dangerous, he would risk getting beamed away – so Ezio stays on the ground and hunts his enemy that way.

There, a Wraith soldier – a big, pale creature with bare arms and a mask covering his face, holding a weapon called stunner. He is liberally stunning children, it looks like, while another Wraith is dragging a woman away from them, shaking her as she cries and struggles.

Ezio hides behind a corner while taking the scene in and then decides, the risk is worth it – while the Wraith are distracted by the noise and their gruesome work, Ezio scales the nearest wall and there, on the roof, takes a sword in one hand and dagger in the other.

Wraith likely wouldn't be taken out by a simple stab by a hidden blade – the damage would have to be much more severe. A severed head would be the safest way to go. The warriors have no armour around their necks, it seems, and no creature could long survive lacking a head, not even an otherwise immortal one.

The Wraith move, pushing the woman with them, and once they are in position where he can reach both of them simultaneously, Ezio drops, swinging as hard as he can.

It proves to be half effective. Though only partially armoured, the Wraith hide turns out to be incredibly dense, and though his sword sinks in well enough, his dagger has only a partial success in cutting into the second wraith's neck. The first Wraith falls, Ezio's sword stuck in its spine – it is not dead, but it is also not moving – but the second Wraith only snarls out hatefully and turns towards him.

Ezio swings to his feet, abandoning his sword and taking better hold of his dagger, moving to face his opponent. The Wraith hisses and snarls behind his mask, and then marches forward threateningly and reaches with a hand. Ezio can see the jagged edge of the opening in his palm, where they feed – the Wraith brandishes it like a weapon, perhaps expecting Ezio to recoil.

Instead, Ezio puts a throwing knife through the jagged gap – and as the Wraith roars in rage, he moves forward with his dagger.

The wraith's armour is impenetrable – one blow and Ezio abandons all idea of piercing through it. It has a great deal of gaps, however, and the Wraith's arms are completely bare, so they are what Ezio aims for first, slicing at them with his dagger while taking another throwing knife. The Wraith, if he feels any pain, does not react to it – and he barely even _bleeds_. He does, however, retaliate.

The Wraith is _strong_ , stronger than he'd expected. Perhaps five times the strength of a man, the blow it lands on Ezio's side dents the metal of his armour – not something he can allow to happen again, then. Shifting his footing, Ezio ducks the other blows, or tries to – the Wraith is not only stronger than man, but faster also, and moves quickly to follow.

No wonder these creatures are so feared.

But where they are strong and fast, they are not very skilled. The Wraith falls for his feints, easily confused – and as it tries to block an attack that isn't coming, Ezio sinks his dagger into gaps of his armour. Under the arm and to the heart – not lethal. Across the neck under the mask – not lethal. Across the wrist, severing sinews – not lethal, though it renders the hand inert.

It makes sense, soon, why the Wraith armour covers so little – they seem impervious to many things that would kill a man, and they are not prone to bleeding. But that also must mean that what they do cover… must be more vulnerable.

While the Wraith flails under all the cuts and stabs Ezio has made, Ezio uses his hook blade to grab the Wraith's foot and drag it to the ground. Then, quickly, he goes about ridding the Wraith of his armour – not an easy task, but under the Eagle Vision he can see the locking mechanism and where it releases. And then, with the Wraith's pale chest revealed, Ezio looks for a weak point, and finds nothing apparent – and there isn't time to check every usual spot, not with the Wraith already moving to attack him.

So, in the end, he shoves a splinter bomb under the armour, slams it back shut, and backs away. The resulting explosion is muffled by the armour, but definitely effective – the Wraith jolts and then it's still, with smoke and viscous liquid leaking from under the armour. It's most certainly dead now, but the end result is far from satisfying.

There _has_ to be a quicker way to kill these creatures. Perhaps poison?

"Oh my, oh my heaves, Ancestors preserve me," the woman whom he'd just saved gasps, while Ezio moves to the other Wraith, lying still with his sword in its spine.

"Run for cover, my good woman," Ezio says. "There are more of them still about. You must hide."

"My children –" she gasps and then scrambles her way towards them, checking them over and then starting to drag them to a nearest house, to hide. Ezio glances after her and then wrenches his sword off the Wraith's spine, points it's tip down to the wound he'd made and shoves it down with all his might, before wrenching it sharply to the left.

Well, severed head certainly seems to do the trick – but the force demanded…

"Hm," Ezio hums, dissatisfied with his own performance, and then looks around for more, already thinking of other tactics to try and test. There – another pair of Wraith, engaging in act of corralling people –

And then the street is awash with white light.

Ezio looks up, just barely in time, to see the Wraith dart flying overhead – it is being chased by the Puddle Jumper, but that is secondary to the fact that its culling beam is coming at him. He realises this in a flash – too late to avoid it. It is going to take him, and he cannot escape it.

The white light is upon him just as something knocks him down to the ground. He feels weight of a man upon him, sees a hand resting on the ground in front of his face – golden, transparent, familiar. The golden ghost, of whom he'd been peripherally aware of during his fight, lays upon him, and the white light washes over them both.

It does not take them.

"What?" Ezio breathes, stunned, and attempts to turn.

"Sorry," the golden ghost murmurs – and then he's gone, leaving Ezio lying on the street alone as the Wraith Dart is chased away by the Puddle Jumper. Confused, Ezio looks around for him, but the ghost is gone, utterly gone – not a speck of gold remains anywhere in sight. It wasn't the Dart that took him – the light was already past them – and yet… it feels as though he was _taken_.

Somewhere in the distance, a human voice screams.

Ezio gets to his feet, grabbing his sword. Whatever just happened, it would have to wait. There are still Wraith about, and he has a job to do.

From now on, though, he would keep one eye to the sky.


	8. Chapter 8

He wakes up lying on the hard floor, which feels warm under his bare skin. Around him there is soft light that comes from the ceiling and the walls – long panels imbedded in elaborately designed structures, impressive and a little alien. Everything smells a little wet and musky – but yet, also, clean. A little like brackish waters and ocean, but also like air conditioning.

Slowly, he pushes himself up to a seated position and then looks around for a moment, just taking everything in. He's in a corridor with irregular but symmetrical wall designs – no clean smooth plains except on the floor, everything has stuff in it, making it complicated. Kind of like modern art. Whatever that is, it's nice.

He has no idea where he is. Or why he's naked.

After a moment of waiting for… something, he's not really sure what, he stands up. Now, it's a little chilly – the floor is pleasantly warm under his bare feet, but the air is cooler, and the hair on his skin stands on end at the brush of the slightest hint of breeze. Curious, he runs his hands over the – what is it, goosebumps? Cold shivers? His arms are hairy and bare, and it feels a bit off – there's something missing from his left arm. It looks too pale. And he's cold.

Clothing would be nice. The corridor is empty though, nothing there but water stains on the floor and walls, so… he concentrates. It feels as though he should be able to, that there should be… what's the word. Map? A mini map? Something. It feels as though there should be a _thing_ in the corner of his vision, telling him where to go. Weird.

And then he knows where to go – though it's not a map in his field of view, more of a… guiding _feeling_. As he lifts his head, the lights further along the corridor turn on, a clear signal telling him, _this way_.

So, that way he goes, his bare feet silent on the lovely warm floor. The light and the feeling – which, now that he's following it, feels like it's coming from without rather than within – lead him along the corridor, past several openings and left from a corridor and eventually, to a door. All of the place looks vaguely similar – like elaborate, mostly dark-hued modern art – but also not very familiar. Maybe a little, but mostly… not.

It also feels like it's speaking to him – the walls, the lights, the floor under his feet, the ceiling over his head. Like there's something there, guiding him.

He thinks at a door, and it opens ahead of him, revealing a room that looks a little less water damaged than the rest of the place. There is machinery there, big keyboards with large see-through keys, and racks. In the middle of the room, there is a larger machine with what looks like chutes – this machine glows golden to him, important. It's what he needs.

Quickly, he walks over and activates the machine with a wave of his hand. It produces a screen of holograms, full of flickering text which he's a little surprised to understand. Material lists, energy requirements, designs – curious, he flicks through the settings until he figures it out. It's a seamstress machine.

No, that's… probably ridiculous. Seamstress is a person. And yet.

Shrugging his shoulders, he brings up designs, flicking through them, weirdly nostalgic about it all. It feels like he's done this before – though the scanner that washes over him, taking in his proportions, that's new. Selecting designs on a list though – or, colours? That's familiar. He's done something like this before.

Cheered up by that though, he goes through the designs until he finds the one he likes – trousers, shoes, and a tunic. It doesn't have a hood – that bums him out a bit – so he selects a scarf thing too, and then hits _fabricate_.

There's a hum of power, and quickly he goes to investigate the chutes. There, in one of them, are the clothes he selected, made to fit his size perfectly. Handy. He pulls them on, making a loose hood out of the scarf and pulling it over his short hair, not sure _why,_ but… feeling a little better with it there. And then…

Then he's not sure what to do. He's not naked anymore, which is nice, but he has no idea where he is, or why, or where everyone is – or if there even is anyone here. He's not even sure who he is, exactly. Is he someone? It kind of seems like he should be someone, but… yeah, he doesn't have a clue.

But this place seems pretty neat, so, shoving his hands to the pockets of his newly fabricated, dirty white trousers, he heads out to investigate. There's gotta be something around here that might tell him something, after all. And if not, then a way out.

He wanders in the halls for about five minutes, wondering about the obvious water damage – and the fact that it wasn't damaged all that much, actually. There's just water stains everywhere – and in one spot, there's a wall of dried up seaweed, which is kind of sad. He also finds a room which looks like it had a colony of some sort of triangle-shaped mollusks or something – the window there is broken and there's also some dried up seaweed here too. It looks sad, but also kind of cool. This place must've been underwater for a long, long time.

And then he finds a balcony – and finds himself looking at a city full of skyscrapers, surrounded at all sides by ocean. It's evening – or maybe morning? – outside, and the sky is shifting between hues of red and blue, which paints the city of skyscrapers in vivid hues and makes the windows glow. It looks familiar, but also, no, not at all. Maybe like something he knew once, but…

Then he becomes aware of people, not far from him. Several of them coming towards him – soon he can hear footsteps, the words of people talking, hushed, wary. They're approaching him with what feels like _readiness_.

He considers this for a moment, then peers over the edge of the balcony – he could escape. He's not sure why, but he could. It's an option. He keeps it in mind as the balcony door whooshes open behind him, and a man in dark combat gear steps out, snapping, "Hands where I can see them!" followed by someone else saying, "Holy – is that – "

Turning around – holding his hands where they can see them – he takes in the people. They don't look familiar – but they look like people, so there's that. They're also carrying a lot of weaponry and aiming machine guns at him.

Weird, he's not sure he knew what machine gun even was before seeing one.

"Identify yourself!" the man in lead says, brandishing the machine gun somehow firmer at him. "Who are you?"

"I have no idea," he answers honestly. "Where am I?"

That seems like exactly the wrong – or maybe, the _right_ – thing to say.

* * *

 

He's taken through the city, through corridors, rooms – a teleporter, which is cool – and then to a section of the city with a whole lot more people. There people come to see and gawk at him, and a pale woman with dark hair almost jogs to meet him and the guys holding him captive, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Hello," the woman says, looking astonished. "Um."

"Hi," he answers, still holding his hands up.

"We found him wandering around the section where Doctor McKay detected the power surge – Doctor Zelenka is still back there figuring out what he might've activated," the man who'd taken him captive says. "He was on the balcony – it doesn't seem like he's armed."

"Yes, I can see that," the woman says, shifting her footing and looking at him from up and down. "Uh – who are you, how did you get in here?"

"I don't know," he answers.

"You don't know."

"Nope."

This doesn't seem to be what she was expecting, though the guy who'd taken him hostage looks more than a little bit dubious. "Obviously he's lying."

"Let's not jump into conclusions," the woman says, soothingly, and looks at him. "What is the last thing you remember? Or the first?"

He shrugs. "Where am I?" he asks and looks around in the room. There's a lot of people there, and they're all wearing similar-ish uniforms. The uniforms look nothing like the dirty-white stuff he'd made on the seamstress machine though. "What is this place?"

"This is… Atlantis, the city of the Ancients," the woman says and motions slowly to herself. "My name is Doctor Elizabeth Weir – I am the leader of the expedition here. Can you tell me your name?"

"Not really," he admits. "Sorry for barging in, I guess. I don't know why I did it, though."

The woman looks like she has a realisation. "But you know you did it _intentionally_?" she asks slowly.

"I don't know," he shrugs. "But I figure I must've, why else would I be here in – um. Atlantis?" He pauses to consider that and then shakes his head. "Yeah, I have no idea what that actually means, but it sounds cool."

"Cool," the woman repeats slowly and clears her throat, glancing at the man and then touching her ear. "Major Sheppard, Doctor McKay, if you would meet me in the infirmary, please?" she says to no one and then smiles to him. "Would you please come this way? We have all new visitors to our city go through a medical check – and I think we need to check you over for something."

"Doctor Weir," the man with the machine gun says insistently. "The man is obviously a security risk."

"No, I don't think that's what he is, not at all," she says and smiles. "Please, come this way – it won't take long."

* * *

 

A Scot named Carson Beckett scans him and prods and pokes at him and pronounces him perfectly healthy, amnesia aside. Doctor Beckett also asks him some questions to check how deep the memory loss goes – it goes deep – and then marvels at his language skills.

"You can recognize my accent? That's interesting,"  the man says. "A vocabulary and basic object recognition is one thing, but my accent is very clearly a cultural thing, and specific to Earth culture. What else have you recognized?"

In the meanwhile, Doctor Weir is talking – not far enough away not to be overheard – with two men who are hiding their staring very badly.

"… first retook a human form – or was forced to take one – he also had a near complete amnesia," the woman is saying. "It took days and near proximity to familiar things for him to start recovering his memories – it could be this man is something very similar, an Ascended who took – or was forced to take a human form."

"And he, what, decided to pop back home, now that home is no longer under several thousands feet of ocean?" the man she's been addressing as McKay and Rodney answers.

"Why not? Doctor Jackson isn't the only case either – there is history of a very real former _Ancient_ who retook human form, it's obviously something that is well within the capabilities of the Ascended," Weir points out. "It could be that it's more commonplace than we realise – only now we're living in an actual Ancient city, which, reasonably, would be the place where an Ancient might want to return, in physical form."

"Didn't doctor Jackson _also_ de-ascend in an Ancient city?" the other man – Major Sheppard – asks. McKay looks at him and he arches his brows. "What, it was one of the essential files – I do read the reports sometimes. Doctor Jackson descended in, what was it. Visban?"

" _Vis Uban_ ," Weir agrees brightly. "It was thought to have been the latest – the youngest – of ancient cities in Milky Way galaxy, before the plague of course."

"Yes, yes, fascinating – why now?" McKay asks. "And why _in general_? I mean, assuming this guy is an Ancient, or former Ascended – why did he de-ascend? Or what did he _do_ to be de-ascended?"

"Well… there's no way to know, really, as he doesn't remember," Weir says. "But if there's even the slightest chance that he _might_ remember…"

"… then we might have an actual living Ancient… living in the city," Sheppard says.

They all turn to look at him, and he pretends he isn't listening. Really, though, they aren't being very subtle about it. It's interesting stuff – not that it makes much sense to him, but still. Interesting. Ancient, huh? A bit pretentious. Pretty sure it's not right either, but what does he know? Not much, really.

Doctor Weir approaches them, smiling to him and then to Doctor Beckett, saying, "How is he, Doctor?"

"In perfect health," Beckett says. "Still pending on genetic analysis, that will take a little longer, but I think it's safe to say he definitely has the ATA gene."

"Oh?"

"He activated the scanner on his own – I didn't have to do anything," Beckett says.

"Oh," he says. "Sorry, I didn't mean to?"

Beckett waves a hand. "Never you mind, lad, no harm done – and it worked better than ever."

"Well, that's promising news," Doctor Weir says and smiles to him a little wider. "Now how would you like to take a closer look around Atlantis? Maybe something here will jog your memory."

"Sure," he says. "But you don't know me either, right?"

"No, but with luck maybe you will remember something on your own," she says and motions him. "We will just have to see if we can remind you. Come right this way, please."

* * *

 

He can recognise accents, flags, even languages when he hears people speak them, but that's about it. Atlantis doesn't seem any more familiar to him, even though Doctor Weir shows him around its more important bits – at least, they seem important. There's a gate room, a Stargate, all sort of control consoles – they all look very cool, but not very familiar. He can read the local language, though, which makes Weir very excited.

"That's a good sigh – maybe if you take a look at the Ancient Database and read some entries, maybe that will help your memory along," she suggests.

While she shows him around, people stop to gawk. That's really the only way to put it – people actually come just to check him out, watching and whispering. And he's starting to realise that maybe he isn't supposed to hear them, since they all seem to think he can't. He isn't sure how to tell them their private whispers aren't so private – at this point and after everything he's heard, it seems a bit rude.

They all seem to think he might be an Ancient, whispering of Ascension and powers and wondering if he has psychic abilities. Which, maybe he does. He knows what _psychic ability_ means and the weird mental connection he has with the city seems like it could be it.

The place is just… _there_ , and it feels almost like it's waiting for him to tell it to do something. Like, there are little systems everywhere, hidden in the floors and walls and even the ceiling, just waiting for activation. He can't immediately tell what they are, but in the control room alone there's seven hidden _gadgets_ in the structures – he could just reach out and activate them, but… seems a bit rude. Like going into someone's house and starting to rummage through the cupboards.

In the Gate room, in the space before the thing Weir calls a _Stargate_ there is a… thing in the floor, waiting. He can see it there, he can feel it – if he just held out his hand, it would raise from the floor and he knows he would be able to control it. And through it, maybe he could control the whole city.

Carefully, he puts his hands behind his back and backs away from it.

"Anything?" Weir asks hopefully.

"Nah," he answers. "Maybe the database thing could work. The word sounds familiar, anyway."

She smiles eagerly and then shows him to a near terminal, stepping aside to watch him. She's not the only one – it feels as though everyone in the room turns to watch.

 _No pressure or anything, huh_ , he thinks and then activates the pedestal, looking at the screen. But though he can read the language and work the pedestal – there are handy little nudges going on in his head, telling him what to do and how… not much of it actually seems at all familiar. Or, anything, really. At a glance there are millions upon millions of files, and just browsing through them idly, none of it catches his interest as anything particularly special. Nothing of it pops out as _golden_.

"Anything?" Weir asks again.

"It's – cool, but… no, sorry. I got nothing," he admits and steps back.

"Oh," she says, disappointed, and then rallies. "Perhaps you are familiar with some other sections of the city – shall we continue our tour? We could start with the cafeteria – it's likely to have been a popular room in the past too. Maybe that will be more familiar to you."

"Sure, if you say so," he agrees. "I am a bit hungry too, so if this cafeteria entails food..."

"Then, please – follow me."

He's not the only one who does – they have a constant escort of well armed guards, but the guards show up as mostly white, so they're probably not that bad. Still, the scowly guy from before, Bates, watches them with the narrowed eyes as they go. No surprise the guy shows up as red.

"We haven't explored all of the city yet, of course – we've barely even scratched the surface," Weir says as they approach another teleporter – cool. "Could be that the section you were found in is the one you are the most familiar with – we aren't really utilising all the sections of the city, most of the buildings here are empty and deactivated."

"Okay, sure," he answers. "Your guess is as good as mine. Better, really."

Weir offers him a smile and then looks thoughtful. "You activated a machine there – how did you do that? "

"It was something I needed, so – I just did."

"But how did you _know_ to do it – how did you know that was what you needed?" she asks. "What is the machine anyway?"

"Seamstress machine," he answers and then makes a face. It sounds even more ridiculous spoken out loud. "Fabric-fabricator. Fabric-cator. Um. It makes clothes," he clarifies and shrugs. "I needed clothes, so I looked around, and the city showed me the machine. That was kind of it, really."

"The – city… showed you?" Weir asks slowly.

"Yeah."

"How exactly did the city show you?"

He shrugs and looks at her. "Just did. Doesn't it show you what's where?"

She shakes her head, looking fascinated. "Do you mean that the city speaks to you in some way? Communicates with you?"

"I have no idea. I guess," he says and then looks up.

They've come to a big hall with multiple levels and many tables. There is a bunch of people there, eating dinner and talking to each other, most of them seated under great big windows what show an _amazing_ view of the city. It smells nice, fresh cooked food and all that… but it doesn't look very familiar. People show up as blue or white mostly, which is nice, though. All except for one.

Near the windows, there is a figure that glows in gold.

"We serve ourselves here – the cooks keep the hot food tables full at dinner times for everyone to take their share, and it looks like we've just about caught the end of the dinner shift and – um, excuse me?" Weir says, as he steps past her and into the cafeteria.

People stare at him as he walks through the cafeteria, up a couple of steps to the higher levels and towards the important person. The man – older, dressed in hooded cloaks and armour, looks up from where he'd been staring outside – there are other people at the table, men, who don't yet notice him and keep talking.

"… sure that sergeant Bates will chill if you just take part in some drills," a dark skinned man is saying between eating. "Just, get used to command structure, working with a team, that sort of stuff – it's not like anyone here can't say you didn't do your part. Just – maybe little less wandering off to do your own thing the next… time…"

The men – and a couple of women – at the table are noticing him now, and are turning to stare, their eyes widening a little at the sight of him. Doctor Weir is hurrying after him, looking a little alarmed – as are the soldiers who were following. He doesn't care, not really – they're all blue and white. The older man, he's gold. He's _important_.

The golden man blinks at him and then stands up – he can see it too, his eyes, they can _see_.

"Hello," the older man says slowly, questioningly.

Grinning like an idiot, he answers simply, "Hi."


	9. Chapter 9

"The man is already a liability, and now this?" Bates says, motioning to the security footage from the training room, where Ezio Auditore is assisting with marines. The camera is zoomed past the action taking place on the sparring ring, though - it's aimed instead to the side, where their still nameless descended Ancient is sitting on a seat cushion, surrounded by Athosians. "Who knows what kind of intelligence he will get out of the Ancient if he starts remembering. We can't let this go on unchecked."

"So we'll tell the amnesiac Ancient what, he can't hang around his new favourite person, they're bad influence?" John asks wryly.

"Maybe," Bates grouses.

"I am not comfortable restricting his movements or trying to put limits to his freedoms, Sergeant," Doctor Weir says. "Not when there's a very real possibility he has a better right to freedom around Atlantis than we do. There's a good chance he was born in this city, which would make him a natural born citizen - and if and when he remembers, I don't want him remembering us putting restrictions on him and acting like - well - invaders in his own home."

"We don't know he's a natural born citizen - he might not even be Ancient," Bates says.

"Whatever he is aside - how did he ended up latching on Auditore of all people?" McKay asks, making a face. "The guy is the least advanced person here."

"He does have the highest percentage of Ancient DNA," Doctor Weir points out.

"So, what - birds of a feather?"

"Could be," Doctor Weir agrees and looks to John. "Could be that he might have something of a similar reaction to you, if you met him one on one."

"From what I hear, he made a beeline for Ezio," John points out. "In a crowded room. I was in the infirmary with him, remember, and he didn't seem to care. Same with Beckett."

Bates lets out a frustrated sound. "Whatever the reason, Sir, Ma'am, Ezio Auditore is a liability and we shouldn't be trusting a probable source of vital, potentially very damaging information to his charge like this."

"I know your hangups with Ezio, Sergeant, but I doubt he would wish any harm on Atlantis," Weir says plainly. "He's made many friends among the marines and the Athosians, and I doubt he'd want to do anything to happen to them."

"We don't know that."

"Sometimes we just have to trust people," Weir says, a little firmer. "And I trust there's a reason for all of this. For now let's watch and see - and if something concerning comes up, then we will react accordingly, not before."

"Doctor Weir -"

"Innocent until proven guilty, Sergeant," Weir says. "I understand your concern and I appreciate it - but we're not going to force either of them to do anything they don't want to do, even something as simple as separating them. This is still a mostly civilian base - not a military one. And you said it yourself, Ezio Auditore is no soldier - neither has he or the Ancient signed any contracts. Which means they are our _guests,_ not members of this expedition we might order around."

Bates presses his lips together, frustrated, and John tries not to grin to widely. Ha, serves him right.

"So we will do nothing about this?" McKay asks, pointing at the camera feed.

"We'll observe," Weir says, looking between them. "And see what comes of it - and in the meanwhile, try and see if we can prompt any new memories in our Ancient guest. And that means I want both of you to put in an effort, Major Sheppard, Doctor McKay."

"What - _why_?"

"Because between you two, you cover the widest range of Ancient attributes - you know the city's systems better than anyone, Rodney, and Major Shepard has the strongest expression of the ATA gene, aside from Ezio Auditore," Weir says. "I will still try to engage him in subjects of Ancient culture and language - maybe between the three of us, we'll figure out something – his name, if nothing else."

John makes a face at that - not the ideas of engaging, but not even knowing your own name. That's gotta be rough. "Guess I'll show him around the Puddle Jumpers, then," he says, glancing at McKay, who looks resigned.

Weir nods and looks at them. "I don't have to tell you this might be the most important discovery we've made since arriving on Atlantis," she says. "Let's try to make good of it. Dismissed."

* * *

 

John hasn't really gotten that close to Ezio Auditore. Between the two teachers of old martial arts, he prefers learning from Teyla, really - and Ezio's sessions are always booked full, as he doesn't show favouritism to his students and takes on anyone. Teyla actually makes time for John in one on one sessions.

John had sat on the sparring matches, and when the marines started recording the sessions, he watched few of the videos. It was entertaining and pretty impressive to watch this guy nearly in his sixties beat marines half his age, but that just made John more unwilling to take part. The men didn't need the humiliation of having their senior most officer watching them being kicked around.

So, John had sort of kept his distance. There wasn't much he could contribute to the guy's history lessons, and Ford had Ezio covered anyway. If something came up, Ford would tell him. Which was just as well, less work for him, really.

… and there was something about the guy John wasn't so sure about. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, but whenever he was in Ezio's presence, it always felt like the man could see right through him. Like he was in front of a school principal or something, and the guy had caught him slacking off in class. It was just a bit unnerving.

Still, orders are orders, and so, John attempts to engage… after McKay has tried and failed at that very thing.

"The guy is – he's useless, he's a – a _doormat_ ," McKay complains to him, later. "I mean, you tell him _go here, do this_ , and he'll do it, easy as pie, and the Ancient Database bends over backwards for him, it's frankly a little disturbing – but try and actually talk to him, and it's all, _yeah, sure, if you say so_."

"One would think you'd like that sort of conversational input," John comments, a little amused by how frustrated McKay sounds.

"Yes, well, the guy doesn't actually contribute anything," McKay says. "Sycophants get extremely annoying in short order, have you noticed?"

"Can't say I've entertained many sycophants."

"Well, I wouldn't recommend it," the guy mutters and folds his arms. "He's definitely not remembering anything – he does that thing you do, instinctual use of the Ancient systems, he just – thinks, and they work for him. But ask him why or how, and he just shrugs his shoulders, it's very annoying. Also, did you know the city has long range sensors? I didn't know that – this guy didn't know that, but he managed to bring them up front anyway."

"Sounds to me like something like that would be handy," John comments. "How long are these long range sensors?"

"Long, very long – we're working on a program that will translate the Ancient output into something our systems can understand, chances are they cover a good chunk of this side of the galaxy," McKay says and then waves a dismissive hand. "Which is beside the point. The guy is a blank slate written full – I've read the files on Jackson, and Orlin, and there's a good chance that what he knows and doesn't, it's all intentional. He chucked out all the memories he could and kept the essentials – his instinctive, subconscious understanding of Ancient systems. I doubt he will be able to remember anything."

"You talked to him _once_ , Rodney," John says. "Aren't you being a bit quick on the judgement here?"

"Honestly, it would probably be better for us if he _didn't_ remember," McKay says, and at his expression, continues. "Bates is a jerk, but he's not wrong – who knows what this guy might know, who knows what he might do once he _does_ remember? Like this he's actually of some use, willingly and happily helping us. Granted, he doesn't know how or why, but maybe that's just a boon for us – this way he's actually likely to help us instead getting all… high and mighty like how most Ancients seem to come across."

John makes a face at that – though it's not an entirely stupid thought. Still… "Would feel a bit like we're taking advantage, don't you think?" He comments. "The guy has amnesia, he doesn't know any better."

"Well, precisely," McKay says, though despite how quickly he says it, there's a sort of hesitant guilt there too. "Elizabeth said it, right? There has to be a reason – maybe that's the reason. Maybe he's here to guide us through Ancient systems, knowingly or not."

"It's the _knowingly_ part I'm a little iffy about," John mutters. He's been around the block enough many times to know how easily people can be taken advantage of – how easily they can be abused. And if this Ancient guy is really as much of a doormat as Rodney thinks…

"I think I'm going to go talk to him," John decides.

"You'll probably have better luck with it," McKay snorts. "The guy seems right up your alley."

* * *

 

McKay is a lot of things, but a good reader of people was not something John expected. And sure, he'd seen a bit of the Ancient guy, heard him interacting with Doctor Weir – and seen the goofy way he introduced himself to Ezio, a video of which had kind of gone around the city, making half of the people _aww_ very loudly. So he knew the guy was a bit of an… airhead.

So it wasn't as if John was expecting a brick wall – and honestly, the guy seemed like someone he could hang out with. But really – it's actually a bit eerie.

He catches up with Ezio and the nameless Ancient guy on a balcony – not an unusual thing on Atlantis, everyone hangs out on the balconies. Ezio is sitting by a table under the balcony roof, writing something in a leather bound journal he's gotten who knows where, while the Ancient guy leans onto the balcony railing, watching the city. Considering how… _weird_ both of them are, in terms of how they _got_ to Atlantis, they seem to be getting along swell. Ezio even has his hood down and everything.

"Evening. Sorry to intrude," John says, awkwardly, while the Ancient guy glances at him over his shoulder and Ezio looks up from his book.

"And here I thought we managed to slip away undetected," Ezio comments, lowering his pen. "What can we do for you, Major Sheppard?"

"I just hoped to chat a little, nothing major," John says, smothering a grimace at his half intentional pun. "How are you finding the city?" he asks, turning his eyes to the Ancient guy.

"Is it familiar, you mean?" the Ancient asks and turns to look at the city. "Kind of, but kind of not. Like, I know buildings like these, I think – but they're not _these_ buildings," he says and motions at the towers around them. "I know skyscrapers – but not these particular skyscrapers."

"That's something," John says, arching his brows. "Anything else you've remembered?"

"Eh," the guy says and folds his arms on top of the railing. "I do have the weirdest urge to climb that one there," he points at the central control spire. "And jump."

"Um – please don't," John says, his eyes widening a little. "That would definitely kill you."

"I mean – with a parachute," the Ancient says and shrugs his shoulders. "Just glide down among all these skyscrapers, it would be _epic_."

Epic? John blinks and looks at the skyscrapers of Atlantis, considering – and yeah, holy shit, the guy is right. It would be epic. The central control spire of Atlantis is precisely 1142.4 meters from the ocean surface, jumping down from it would be like BASE jumping from the top of the Taipei 101 – two Taipei 101s, actually.

"I don't think the people here would be very happy about it," John says, stepping to the balcony railing and measuring distances. "And the winds here go up to speeds, which honestly would make it more dangerous than it would be worth. But yeah, it would be something."

"Yeah," the Ancient guy says with a wistful sigh. "Like jumping from Burj Khalifa."

John blinks and looks at him. "The _what_?"

The Ancient blinks and then squints at nothing. "I don't know?" he says, as if only now realising what he just said. "Huh."

Ezio looks between them and then hums low in his throat. "He occasionally speaks words in conversation which give people pause – memories, coming to the surface," he comments and leans back on the chair he's sitting on, closing the book he'd been writing in. "But as soon as they are spoken, he forgets. Burj, I believe, is Arabic."

"Yeah, it is, means tower," John says slowly, shifting his footing and looking between the pair. Khalifa sounds familiar too, but he can't immediately place it. "You know Arabic?"

"Seems as though we both do," Ezio agrees calmly, watching the Ancient, who has turned his eyes to the city again.

Okay, Arabic from an Ancient, that's a little… unusual. Latin he would've gotten, Ancient language was the basis of Latin from the way the linguists go about it – and Ancient Egyptian is Goa'uld shtick, and old nordic languages were the Asgards'… But what's _Arabic_ in the lingua-macrocosm of the universe?

"What else have you figured out?" John asks slowly, curiously.

Ezio doesn't answer, glancing his way and then looking back to the Ancient. So, that's yes on the figuring out things, and also no on the telling him about it. Great.

"Name, maybe?" John asks and looks between them and then nodding to the maybe-Ancient guy. "It's getting a bit awkward, not having a name to call you by."

"Well, I did come up with one name, but Ezio shot me down," the guy says, shrugging his shoulders.

John blinks, arching his brows and then looking at Ezio. "He _did_ , huh? What was the name?"

"Altaïr."

"You yourself know it is not your name," Ezio says calmly, and the still-nameless guy sighs in forlorn agreement. "We will figure it out – and until then, I refuse to entertain a false name. Especially not that one."

Altaïr – the guy from Ezio's letters, the one who built the space ship? John presses that note behind his ear and then says, "It could do in a pinch," he comments. "We have to call him something."

"Do we?" Ezio asks flatly and looks at him. "He _has_ a name, Major, and the fact that he has forgotten it does not make it any less his own. To give him a new name is to deny what identity he has. And currently, every shard of it matters, however small."

The maybe-Ancient bows his head at that, and if John hadn't seen the side of his face he would've said the guy was a little let down by what Ezio said – except he's grinning, looking weirdly pleased.

"Right," John says slowly, glancing between them. The hell? "No naming the nameless guy, got it."

Ezio eyes him and he seems satisfied. "I had been meaning to ask you something, Major," he says then, and looks away. "I approached Doctor Weir on the matter, and Sergeant Bates too, I understand, is aware of it – so I assume you too have heard of it."

Ah. Crap. "The – Brotherhood stuff?" John guesses, grimacing. He'd really hoped he wouldn't have to deal with it.

"Yes, indeed – the Brotherhood stuff," Ezio says, looking down at the book resting on the table. "It is my intention to rekindle my Brotherhood here – to take on apprentices and teach my skills to willing students. Perhaps with like-minded people we might unearth better techniques against the Wraith. I assumed, perhaps arrogantly, that this might be something people in this city would be interested in."

"Hey, we're definitely into new means of killing the Wraith," John says quickly. "Everyone here is _very_ into the idea."

"And yet, I am under guard, restrictions, and since my appeal to start my Brotherhood anew, I have been given no opportunities to do so – in fact, Sergeant Bates has insinuated that I will not be stepping through the Stargate under his watch," Ezio says wryly. "To start my Brotherhood I need to recruit people, to approach potential students – and I am fully aware I cannot do it here."

"Right," John says, deeply uncomfortable now. "Well, things have been a bit hectic lately. It's been taken under consideration."

Ezio says nothing, watching coolly him – waiting him to continue.

John coughs. "There are still things to consider about this Brotherhood stuff. I mean, I am no expert on stuff like this, but starting an _organisation_ of any kind on Atlantis, it's just – it's a big thing. It's kind of like starting a church," he comments. "We're not yet sure how something like that would fit inside Atlantis."

The guy doesn't look very impressed with him – and there it is again, that feeling of being seen through. And it's not just Ezio – the nameless guy is watching him too, and John feels frankly completely transparent between them.

"Listen," he says, increasingly awkward. "The Atlantis Expedition, it's like its own – singular – thing here. We're all part of a same group. Now we're – we're trying to integrate the Athosians in, but it's slow going. Adding in another group, one full of recruits from off world…" he makes a haphazard motion. "It's just difficult."

"Sounds like it's going to keep on being difficult," the nameless guy comments, and John turns to look at him. The guy smiles wryly and looks back at the city. "It's nice to rule over everything, isn't it? Hard to give chunks of that control away to other people. Harder still, when those people want to start their own _organisations_ with a power of their own."

"That –" _not it_ , John wants to say, except it's exactly it. Not that he himself thinks that way – but it's what Weir and probably Rodney and _definitely_ Bates are thinking. The Assassins Brotherhood thing, it sounds like an _extremely useful_ thing to have, but at the same time… It doesn't sound anything like something they'd have much control of.

Doesn't take having ATA gene to figure out that once Ezio had his way, it would be _his way_.

"The thing is," John says slowly. "This Brotherhood thing – I won't deny the idea of more people with your skills and obvious aptitude for killing Wraith would be… extremely attractive." He licks his lips, trying to think how to put it. "But you haven't really sold it as an… _Atlantis_ thing, you know?"

"I'm sorry?" Ezio says slowly, frowning.

"The way you talk about it, this Assassin Brotherhood, it would be _your_ thing. _Your_ Brotherhood," John says, glancing at the nameless guy and then back to Ezio. "And fact to the matter is, we kind of _need_ to think a bit more communally here. It has to be an _us_ thing, here on Atlantis. It can't be just a _you_ thing."

Ezio doesn't look like he completely understands, but the nameless guy pushes away from the balcony railing, turning his back against it. "So, it can't be a thing unless it's a thing that works for Atlantis," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets

"That's… kind of the gist of it," John says with a grimace and looks at Ezio. "Not that we don't like the idea, we do, but… it kind of makes us uncomfortable that you want to do this thing here… but not _with us_ , you know?"

"So, Atlantis is to be only for your people, after all," Ezio says slowly.

"That's – not the long term plan," John says, trying not to squirm. Damn, he _hates_ this stuff. "We just need to work together right now, towards the same goals, you know? And you haven't sold the Brotherhood as something that… works on that level. The way you tell it, it would be its own thing – separate from the rest of Atlantis. Right? You want to keep it detached from our leadership."

Ezio doesn't deny it, his chin lowering a little as he eyes John thoughtfully.

"Maybe, in the long run, something like that could work here – but not… not right now. Right now we need everyone on the ball here," John says and shakes his head. "And it kind of sounds like your Brotherhood has its own ball."

Ezio shares a look with the nameless guy, arching his brows a little. The nameless guy shrugs and folds his arms, looking thoughtful.

"Now, if," John says quickly, looking between them. "If you can sell the Brotherhood as something that will _contribute_ and change things here on Atlantis for the _better_ … that'd be a different thing. Tell us why we need this Brotherhood. Maybe then…"

"Hm," Ezio hums, still watching the nameless guy.

The guy shrugs again and then hops to sit on the balcony railing. "Would be a change of pace," he comments.

"And a complete departure from the third tenet," Ezio muses wryly.

"You started it," the guy says and kicks his feet, looking at John. "So, what's contributing, in this sense?"

"I have no idea, I don't really know what you guys do," John says, a little relieved now that it looks like he doesn't need to be making any more speeches. "Though honestly, I am into the idea of having a sort of Pegasus style spec-op team. I saw the footage on the attack – the stuff you did… I have a feeling that stuff is gonna be needed in future."

"That is already… the _stuff_ the Brotherhood would have supplied," Ezio comments wryly. "That is why I wish to begin, so that others may learn to fight as do we."

"That's definitely a starting point," John says. "Though the idea you finding people off world, bringing them here, and then teaching them to kill, on Atlantis, that's a bit awkward too. Those security issues and all that, you know."

"Hm," Ezio answers. "It seems I did not consider the difficulty of my proposition fully, after all."

"Everyone makes mistakes," John says quickly. "Maybe think it over a little more, then bring it up to Weir again, see what she thinks."

Ezio looks away – meeting gazes with the nameless guy. "I believe I will," he decides and then stands up. "Thank you, Major – you have given us much to think about."

"Happy to help?" John offers, looking between them as they both prepare to leave. He suddenly has the distinct impression that they're staying together – in the same rooms. "Um, I have to ask, this," he motions between them. "How does this work?"

The pair look at each other and then to him. "What do you mean, Major?" Ezio asks then politely.

"Um," John says, looking from one to the other and trying to put a finger to the… feeling he gets from them. There's something there – it feels like it should be obvious, like he should know this. He can almost _see_ it – like there's a real, visual connection there, but…

Ezio narrows his eyes slightly, watching him. "Hm," he says, glances at the nameless guy, and then pats John's shoulder. "You are on the verge of seeing," he says, and he sounds almost proud in a weird way. "Keep your eyes open, look for the unseen and the unseeable – it will come to you."

" _What_ will?" John asks, alarmed.

"The Gift," Ezio says simply. "But to answer your previous question – we can See each other. That is how _this..._ works."

"Um," John answers, completely lost, as Ezio nods and turns towards the balcony doors – which open obligingly for him, as they do for all with ATA.

The nameless guy looks after Ezio and snorts. "He's gotten cryptic in his old age," he says, sounding fond to the point of being _besotted_. "It's a sort of psychic empathy clairvoyance thing," he explains, which is even more alarming. "Lets you see things as they really are. Lets me see that _he_ ," he nods after Ezio, "is the most important thing to me here."

With that said, the guy jogs through the still open balcony door and after the Assassin, leaving John staring after them with slack-faced shock.

Psychic abilities. Sure. Okay.

_What?_


	10. Chapter 10

Years ago I set out to Masyaf to find wisdom, understanding, knowledge, in the library left behind by Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, in hopes of understanding our ancient battle. I wrote of this to my sister at the time, but I do not think I fully explained the purpose of this quest to her – indeed, I am not sure now if I fully understood it myself.

I have been an Assassin for over forty years now. Of those forty, I have been the Mentor of my Brotherhood less than ten. Majority of my bloody career was spent in quest for vengeance, in setting right an injustice that had destroyed the life I once knew and torn my family apart. I achieved this vengeance after decades, and found no solace in it, no peace, no resolution – only a hollow confusion and disappointment. I stood there, my enemy dead on the ground, and I thought, _is this it, then?_

Once, I stood in front of a goddess and heard a Prophecy not truly meant for my ears. She insinuated this was the purpose of my life – to serve as a conduit to her message, from Minerva to Desmond, and that beyond that my life had no meaning. I entertained this thought, this _fear,_ only for some weeks, for as long as it took to carry that message with me from Rome to Monteriggioni, wondering if it was over now, if my quest was over. It felt wrong then, and it felt wrong when Cesare Borgia died, and it continued to feel wrong with the death of Ahmet.

I have been a ship without a rudder for all my life, it feels, thrown forward by a wind I have no control over, pushed into action, into _reaction,_ by events that happen around me. At the wake of these winds, I look back and I see the ocean washing away the wake of my ship, its imprint upon the world as immaterial as if it never happened.

Who now remembers the Pazzi Conspiracy? How do the Borgia affect the world? Even the nations they attempted to rule are no longer there. Ottoman Empire is long gone, broken into many pieces by many wars, each one washing over the marks we made, making them as if invisible on the pages of history.

In light of this, what are we? What is the Assassin's Brotherhood? We leave no mark and our actions are lost – and should no one remember what we did, should their effects wear to dust… do they still matter? Five hundred years since my greatest accomplishments, do those accomplishments make any difference?

This, I think, is what I set out to find in Masyaf – an answer to the impermanence of our actions and our fights. A meaning in a struggle that seems to lose more of its significance each year as I watch, as I try to spread its influence, as I try to make us strong. Now…

There is no Assassin Brotherhood on Atlantis. None of these people have heard of it, not before I spoke of it, except perhaps as ancient stories. None of these people know the Templar Order, except as old history, tales of conspiracy and entertainment. In this crown jewel of human achievement and innovation, surrounded by all these wise men and women… we do not exist, and neither do our deeds.

* * *

 

Ezio looks up from his book as the window opens on it's own. He isn't particularly surprised to see a figure clad in simple, dirty whites landing on his windowsill, crouching there silently for a moment before closing the window. Even with his face shadowed underneath his cowl made of a scarf, the man seems sheepish.

"Can you not sleep?" Ezio asks, wry.

"Not really," the young man answers, hovering on the windowsill for a moment before sliding down. "Do you mind?"

He should, honestly – the liberties he gives this man are beyond any he's ever given to anyone else, when it comes to his personal space. And yet, "No," Ezio says and turns his eyes to the book. "But you could have used the door. Our rooms are next to each other, it would have been easier just to walk."

"What's the fun in that?" the other asks and leans back on the windowsill. "Besides, the guards look at me funny when I do that."

Yes, because they make assumptions on the nature of his visit. Ezio hums, amused. "The people here grow nervous at the concept of climbing the outer walls," he comments. "They will not be happy knowing how often you do it."

"Well, we just won't tell them, then."

"I think the fact that you're here without using a door might tip them off," Ezio says and takes up the pen again. "Do you only wish for company, or have you something to discuss?" He expects the former rather than the latter. For all that he is an easy conversationalist, the young man seems the most comfortable staying quiet – for that, he prefers Ezio's company, for reasons he doesn't seem to fully understand but isn't eager to question, either.

"Actually, yeah," the young man admits. "I… remembered something."

Ezio hesitates and puts a cap to his pen, turning to face him. There is only dim reading light on above his table – Atlantis, simulating the light of a candle for him – and it's not enough to light the young man's face. The light of the moon coming from the window casts him in shadow – he looks very much like an Assassin, like this, shadowed and hooded, a white ghost in the darkness.

Ezio waits, until finally he speaks.

"It was more of a nightmare, really," the young man says and looks down. "But I think you know it. It was the hanging of two men and a boy. You were there, trying to push through a crowd to get at them, but… it was too late."

Slowly, Ezio closes the book. "You remember this as if you were there?"

"I was watching it happen over your shoulder," the young man says quietly. "I think I was trying to push you forward, but… the crowd was too thick, there were soldiers."

There had been no one there – not until it was too late. Once it had all come to pass and no one had stopped it, once his father and his brothers had hung, then a thief in the crowd had told him to run. But there hadn't been anyone behind him. No one he had seen, anyway.

"I keep remembering stuff like that about you," the young man admits, subdued. "I feel like I should be behind you all the time. But this was the clearest thing I remembered – it was like I was there."

Ezio sighs and stands up. "Few days ago I had a companion here, on Atlantis, that no one else could see. An invisible golden figure, who followed me all around Atlantis," he says and walks over to the window – to the young man. "I am used to seeing ghosts, it is one of the effects of my gifts, I can see afterimages of events. This was different, but I knew no one else could see him, so I did not say anything."

"Um," the young man says, confused. "Okay?"

"And then, he vanished – saving me from a Wraith Dart," Ezio says. "You appeared the next day."

The young man frowns and folds his arms. "So you think – I'm really a former Ascended? And I was following you around?"

"I don't know – but it's quite the coincidence," Ezio says, reaching to touch the younger man's face, to lift it to the light. The young man lets him, and Ezio marvels, once more, at how familiar his face seems. Clean-lined, narrow, with a proud nose, high cheekbones and warm amber eyes. It's missing _something_ , Ezio can't put a finger on what, but now that his stubble has started to shade his chin, it's even more familiar than before.

"Um," the young man says again, staying very still under his touch.

"I believe that the ghost that watched me here has watched me long before that," Ezio admits, clearing his throat, lowering his hand.

"You know who I am," the young man says, watching him keenly. "You know my name."

"You sound certain,"

"I am – I knew you did the moment I laid my eyes on you. You know who I am."

Ezio sighs. He sounds so insistent, and maybe he's right – but… "I don't," Ezio says quietly and then lifts a hand before the young man can argue. "I don't know who you are, I don't know why you are here – I never did. But I can make a guess at your name, and knowing now that you know of me from before Atlantis… I daresay I am right."

The young man shifts, and the eagerness and need in his eyes preach through his usual façade of easygoing calm. "Please," he says, simply, but desperately.

Ezio almost dares not. Who knows what it would change, who knows what it would mean, but… Under those eyes, he can't deny it. "Desmond," he says quiet. "I believe your name is Desmond."

There is no obvious change – no light shines from above signalling a great cosmic shift. The young man's eyes widen slightly and he holds his breath – but nothing changes. "Desmond," he repeats slowly.

"The name is all I know," Ezio says, apologetic. "I heard it once, spoken by what I now assume was an Ascended woman – at the time, I thought she was a goddess, I did not know any better. Through me she addressed you – as if you were standing behind me, watching over my shoulder. She gave you a warning."

The young man frowns, hanging his head, trying to remember. "I can't remember," he admits with a shake of his head. "What was the warning?"

Ezio tells him everything – tells him about the vault under the Vatican, of his struggle to get there, and the combination of Pieces of Eden that opened the way inside, where he met Minerva, and heard her message – saw it delivered through himself to Desmond. He tells the message with as much clarity as he remembers – he has written it down several times, but it has been many years, and already on his first re-telling he'd forgotten details.

None of it seems to ring a bell for the young man, who leans his hip to the windowsill and for some reason stares at his own right hand.

"I think – I think that's the stuff I was made to forget," he says, once Ezio has finished. "That, and a lot of other stuff. It doesn't feel like I can remember this stuff – some other things yes, but that stuff is just… gone."

"They made you forget the warning they gave you?" Ezio asks, also turning to lean to the windowsill, putting the moon behind both their backs. "That seems counterproductive."

The young man – Desmond – bows his head for a moment. "I, uh. I think I figured something out, before," he admits. "It wasn't really a memory though, just a… thing that was wrong, and I figured I was the one who's wrong about it, so I didn't say. The year is wrong."

"The year?" Ezio repeats, arching his brows.

"Yeah," Desmond says and looks at him, smiling wryly. "I almost asked McKay if his computer had a glitch. The year is 2004, right? June 12th, 2004."

"I believe so, yes," Ezio says. "Though I admit I cannot keep track of days with day cycle here being so much longer."

Desmond hums in agreement. "I think I come from another year," he says. "Or that I was… I don't know, more active in another year? It seemed wrong to me."

"If you were around five hundred years ago, and accompanying me invisibly, then it's likely," Ezio comments.

"Yeah, except it feels like all the calendars here are _late_ ," Desmond says with a sigh. "It's hard to explain, like… I look around and I get this feeling that, _ah, I'm in the past, again_." He glances at Ezio. "Crazy, huh?"

Ezio is quiet for a moment, not sure what to think of it. But then, he himself travelled in time, five hundred years of time, aging only one year at most during it. Why would this be any stranger? "Well, who is to say what is and isn't normal, in Atlantis," Ezio says and looks at him. "We are both quite out of place here, aren't we?"

"Men out of time," Desmond says with a wry smile and nudges at his shoulder with his own. "Thanks. For my name. Nice thing to have, a name."

"As long as it is _yours_ ," Ezio agrees, watching him. He's certain it is the right name now – he'd seen how Desmond had reacted to suggested nicknames by some of the marines, and it had felt like cruelty, to entertain the thought of calling him by a false name. Something about Desmond had _withered_ at the thought, with a very real pain, even if he knew not why he felt it. He likely doesn't know why now either, but this name settles him in a way the suggested nicknames had not.

Desmond smiles, pleased, and looks away. "Did I interrupt you in the middle of something?" he asks, nodding to the book.

"I was writing to lay my thoughts in order," Ezio admits.

"Still thinking about whether or not to rebuild the Brotherhood here?"

Ezio sighs and folds his arms. "I am pondering the very nature of our Brotherhood, its place in… the galaxy now, I suppose," he admits. "By habit I wish to rebuild it, my pride tells me it is needed – and yet my intellect looks upon the history as it has been told to me by the people here, on Atlantis… and our effect upon time seems _nonexistent_. I feel as though the Assassin Brotherhood would be necessary in this galaxy that is in such turmoil… and yet, I cannot say if in five hundred years it would have made any difference."

Desmond looks at him and then looks away, frowning.

"I suppose I still wish to make a difference, in any way I can," Ezio says quietly. "And yet, I have grown cynical to see how small I and all the difference I might make truly is. The universe is so vast, and time moves ever on… regardless of what we do."

Desmond is quiet for a long moment, and Ezio falls into grim thought, considering all the things he had done – all the things no one now knew about. The historians of the Atlantis Expedition had brought with them as many writings of Earth as they could fit into their machines – they had brought images of every of Leonardo's paintings, and those of many other artists of those time. One of them even had a _print_ of one of Leonardo's works upon her office wall. And yet… Assassins and their deeds had all but disappeared.

The silence remains unbroken but for the sound of the ocean, until Desmond speaks quietly.

"When… when I close my eyes at night, I can see these threads," Desmond says quietly, his eyes low-lidded and distant. "I – I don't know how it works, I don't know why I see them, but it's like… everything in existence connects to something else. Like Major Sheppard – I can see the threads of his genetic legacy here, I can almost see the reasons why he's here, the decisions and events that led him here. The Ancient of his who had sex with a human and produced his ancestors. The military career he built and why he went down that path. Failure on a mission caused him to be sent to a remote place on Earth as punishment. And because he was sent to that remote place he managed to touch something the Ancients made, and because he has that gene, that single touch changed everything. But it took… millions little threads of connections to make that one touch happen just right."

Ezio watches him silently, confusedly. Desmond blinks and looks at him, continuing. "I can see the threads in you too," he says. "And in me, and how events led us here – well, mostly you, my threads are," he makes a vague hand motion. "I think they've been erased. But we're here because of the actions we took, and the ones taken by people before us, for thousands of generations. And it's the same for all the people here – and it's going to be same for the people who come after us."

Desmond clears his throat and shrugs. "And, uh… I think there will be people, a _lot_ of people, whose threads will include the Assassin Brotherhood, under Ezio Auditore. And they will go on for generations, spread across thousand worlds and… I think that's pretty cool, overall."

Ezio eyes him silently, taking in his awkward, almost embarrassed expression. That was easily the most he's heard the young man speak so far. "You see these things?" he asks, fascinated.

"No, it's… more of a feeling," Desmond says, shifting his footing. "I have this constant nagging sensation that everything used to make a lot more sense – and I didn't like it much. Might be why I was descended back to a human form and all."

"Hm," Ezio answer, not sure what to think, though it has certainly given him something to think about.

Desmond coughs and shoves his hands into his pockets. "And, you know, just on a personal level…" he says and looks down. "So what if no one will know about the good things we do, in the long run? Doesn't make them not worth doing."

Ezio blinks at that and then smiles, wry and a little humbled. "Do you think there is a place for the Assassin Brotherhood on Atlantis?" he asks.

Desmond doesn't answer immediately, staring at his shoes. Then he sighs and looks up. "Not as it is," he says almost apologetically. "Something has to give, first – and I don't think it's going to be Atlantis, at least not in a while."

Ezio closes his eyes and sighs, silently agreeing.

The only way for the Brotherhood to begin anew here… would be for it to change fundamentally. It would have to become part of the mission of the Atlantis Expedition, and give up its own freedom.

Ezio had, in his time, worked with politicians, going about aiding them by ridding of their enemies. Lorenzo and Suleiman were the more important of his political allies, but there had been others. Yet, those alliances had been made _against_ a common threat, not for the benefit of those great leaders themselves. They had been a necessity in the war against Templars, and that was it.

Alliance with Atlantis would not be like that. They might have a common enemy in the Wraith – but to build a Brotherhood _under command_ … it would be forever altered by such an attachment. The Brotherhood would become interchangeably linked with Atlantis. Perhaps there would be other branches, one day, as there had been on Earth, but…

Altaïr had set them free from Masyaf for a reason. Ezio had spread his Brotherhood out for a reason. To chain the Brotherhood to a nation was to utterly undermine its purpose. It would risk once more making the Brotherhood a tool under a political yoke, as it had been under Al Mualim; a single person's tool to be poised at their enemies.

Whatever reason the Assassin Brotherhood exists for, that… that is not it.

Desmond watches him as he ponders this. "Whatever you do, I'm with you," he says.

Ezio releases a breath and looks at him. "You still know so little and remember less," he says regretfully. "You should not make such important choices so easily."

"Ezio, we both know I'm only here because of you," Desmond says plainly. "I doubt it was a decision made easily."

Ezio looks at him and can very easily imagine the scarf upon his hair replaced with an Assassin's cowl. Desmond moves like an Assassin, climbs like one – in his heart there is no question about him being a part of the Brotherhood. Something about him has set a restless part of Ezio at ease. The young man doesn't truly even know him, doesn't know _anything_ – and yet… they both know this.

Ezio is no longer alone, and should Desmond have anything to say about it… he never would be again.

Guilty and glad all at once, Ezio takes Desmond's hand in his. "Will you rebuild the Brotherhood with me?" he asks. "I expect it will not be easy, this galaxy seems like a terribly dangerous place… but I daresay I could use your company and help."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Desmond says firmly, and holds on tight.


	11. Chapter 11

"In good consciousness I cannot authorise it. I'm sorry, but you simply don't know enough about the galaxy for me to feel confident about it – you don't know what you might be getting yourself into. And this isn't a decision you can made for – for Desmond. He has _amnesia_ , he doesn't know any better."

Teyla closes her eyes at Elizabeth's words, gritting her teeth but letting nothing show outwardly. It is a mistake, she knows it is a mistake, but it is the one already made, and she respects Elizabeth too much to question such a decision out loud in front of so many people. But it is a _mistake,_ and they are going to regret it.

Ezio's expression doesn't shift, but the air around him changes. "You will not let us leave, then?" he asks.

"Decisions like these can't be made on a whim, Messere Auditore – and you can't make them for someone like Desmond," Elizabeth says, frustrated but firm. "Please, just take a few days to consider what it is you're actually asking. What do you truly know about this galaxy?"

Ezio doesn't answer, but his lips thin, displeased.

"With the Wraith awake and active, no place is safe," Teyla says, trying to soothe the brunt of Elizabeth's decision with her tone. "No world is secure. Atlantis _is_. Please. Whatever you wish to gain out there, surely it will be easier achieved here?"

"It won't – it cannot," Ezio says and looks at Elizabeth. "It is true, I know little of the galaxy, for all that you have taught me and guided me in understanding the reality that all in Pegasus must contend with… but I likely will learn nothing more here, either. Only what you deem appropriate to tell me."

"We have been nothing but candid," Elizabeth says quickly.

"And I am grateful," the Elder agrees. "But you can only paint the world as you see it, and your vision is locked upon Atlantis. And I have been told in no uncertain terms, that the Brotherhood as I know it cannot exist here. It must be a part of your expedition and act in service of your causes, or it is not welcome."

"This again," Sergeant Bates mutters, leaning back in his chair.

"Yes, _this_ ," Ezio agrees. "I have given my life to the Brotherhood, and I will continue to do so until I die. And the Brotherhood serves people, not institutions, not governments… not governmental leaders," he casts his eyes upon them all. "If I cannot serve my purpose here, then I must do so elsewhere."

"I'm sure we can come to some sort of compromise here," Major Sheppard says, looking uncomfortable. "Things are changing – maybe in time –"

"Is there time?" Ezio asks sharply. "I have heard the reports, I have been shown the numbers. Estimated twenty _million_ Wraith upon this galaxy, and some twenty thousand viable worlds with human populations. Every day, a great number of them is culled, often to extinction. Doctor Gadhavi showed me the numbers, the statistics. By his estimation, with the feeding rate of one human life per month, easily hundreds of thousands, if not millions of humans might be culled _daily_ to feed the awoken Wraith population. With numbers such as these, _when is there time_?"

Teyla swallows and leans back, and no one says anything for a moment. They all know the numbers, of course – but… but those numbers are rarely thought of, rarely taken at face value. It is… too many deaths to be considered. She had not known the numbers had been shown to Ezio – but then, the man is extraordinarily easy to talk to, and very interested in what others know.

"And you really think you and your _swords and knives_ can actually make a difference?" Bates asks derisively.

"If I can teach one man to fight and kill a Wraith, and because of this the man survives an attack that would have otherwise killed him," Ezio says. "Then it is worth it."

There is another period of silence, uneasy this time. Elizabeth is the one to break it. "You can teach people here," she says. "There's enough space for it. I'm sure something can be worked out."

"Could it? Would you let me recruit warriors to this cause, bring them to Atlantis, teach them what I must, regardless of your rules and mandates?" Ezio asks plainly. "At peak strength my Brotherhood had thousands of members. Fortune willing, here it should be far larger, for as everyone constantly reminds me, the galaxy is quite big. Would you truly allow something like that, here?"

Elizabeth presses her lips together, and Teyla is glad she doesn't lie. "I'm sorry," she says. "I can see your point, and I understand your frustration. But you must see, even if you set out through the Stargate, there is no chance you will have any better luck of it out there than you do here – at least here we can discuss these things, decide what is best for everyone – let's just _think_ about this for a little while."

"We also have security concerns," Bates says grimly. "We let you leave and you become a potential security risk – anyone might capture you and torture you for information."

Ezio glances at him and doesn't answer, looking at Elizabeth. "Is that your final decision, then?" he asks.

She draws a breath and then holds it. "We'll adjourn for now, and contemplate on this," she says. "We'll resume this discussion later – once everyone has had the time to think and come up with solutions."

Ezio bows his head slightly and doesn't answer, while everyone glances Elizabeth's way.

Elizabeth hesitates only momentarily and then stands up. "Dismissed."

Teyla smothers a sigh and meets Major Sheppard's eyes over the meeting table. He arches his brows in a fatalistic sort of expression of dubiousness and Teyla looks away. Ezio stands still as everyone moves to leave – he only turns and departs when everyone is on their feet, and no one has said nothing more to him.

His footsteps, Teyla notices with some unease, are silent.

* * *

 

Teyla has spoken with Desmond – who then did not have a name – a couple of times. Though she has her doubts about whether or not he was an Ancient, or merely a human who achieved Ascension, she has no doubt of whether or not he was truly Ascended. There is an ethereal quality to him – calmness that goes beyond the surface level, and rests within his soul.

Whether he is ever to be the source of wisdom some of her people hope he will be, she doesn't know. He does not speak of Ascension, cannot share with them the wisdom of the Ascended or of the Ancients, cannot show them the way – he does not remember and does not seem in any way bothered by it.

"Are you sad that you lost your ethereal form?" she asked him.

"Being physical is all I know – I can't regret the only life I know," he said, shrugging, and never once did his eyes leave Ezio Auditore as he spoke.

Anyone could already see it then. Though people tried to draw him away, entice his interest with tales of the Ancients, of the Ascension, of Atlantis itself… the man only had eyes for the Elder. Doctor McKay likened it to duck imprinting on the first thing he saw, and who knows, maybe there was merit to it. But one thing is certain.

Should Ezio Auditore ask, Desmond would leave with him.

So, the moment the discussions halt, Teyla goes to find him, to try and see if she can… avert this, somehow.

She finds Desmond in the training hall, unsurprisingly, surrounded by marines who are nervously circling him. Desmond waits, bare handed and ready, for the first one to make their move, only they do not – they dare not, eying each other uneasily.

The door slides shut behind Teyla, and it is as if a flag has been thrown down – an invisible, silent signal goes off, and Desmond moves.

Ezio, Teyla has noticed, can but rarely will fight barehanded. If he had his way, he would practice always in full armour, but refrains out of fear of injuring his students. Even so, he fights as if he was in armour, and he uses his practice weapons as if they are deadly, ending a fight in what would have been a deadly blow with a proper weapon. There is a lethal elegance to it.

Desmond, though easily equally as skilled, shows no such elegance.

When he attacks, it is without Ezio's graceful mercy – he holds no punches and gives no leeway to his opponents, knocking blows aside, swiping feet from under his attackers before slamming them, merciless, to the ground. The moves he uses aren't completely like Ezio's refined style – there is an edge of wildness to Desmond's fighting and fluidly that makes his moves seem feather-light – at least, until the men hit the floor. Where Ezio favours his right hand, Desmond works with both, and Teyla can very easily imagine him with bantos rods in hands – or, more likely, dual knives. Many of the blows that he makes with clenched fists, with imagined knives, would be lethal.

It is over very fast.

"Told you not to go easy," Desmond says, deceptively calm as he stands, surrounded by groaning men. Grinning, he turns to look at Teyla. "Do you want to try it?"

She would, actually, but not now. "Later, perhaps," Teyla says. "I was hoping to speak with you, rather than fight you. Alone, if we may."

Desmond looks at her and then down to the men at his feet. Shrugging, he reaches to pick them up, tugging them to their feet and patting their shoulders heavily before moving to follow Teyla out. "What's up?"

"Ezio informed us he wishes to leave," Teyla says, cutting to the chase, as the Expedition members say.

"Yep," the former Ascended agrees.

"I assume you intend to go with him?"

Desmond looks at her, and not for the first time she's struck by how deep his eyes are – how much they seem to see. As she wonders what it is he sees in her – what insight into people his Ascension might have given him – he turns away, to look down the hall.

Major Sheppard is walking their way.

"Teyla, um – Desmond?" he says. "I was just coming to have a word with you."

"Seems to be going around, that," Desmond comments, nonchalant. "This is about us leaving, huh?"

Major Sheppard glances at Teyla and sighs. "Yeah, um…"

Teyla looks at him and then turns her eyes to Desmond, who seems deceptively at ease, looking between them. "Doctor Weir wishes for time to think," she says. "I do not believe Ezio took it well."

"Huh," Desmond says, noncommittal.

"Yeah, I kinda got the feeling he might be up to something," Major Sheppard agrees, stepping closer. "You – you know what it actually means, to leave? The rest of the galaxy isn't like Atlantis – we're pretty secure here, we're safe, but out there it's anyone's game, and the Wraith are everywhere."

"Yes?" Desmond answers, somehow growing only milder in tone.

"What Major Sheppard means to say is that what Ezio is proposing is dangerous and bears great many risks," Teyla says. "And we are not certain you are aware of the full extent of the dangers, and neither is he."

Desmond looks at them, his face calm, and Teyla feels an urgent burst of desperation – he does not understand, he cannot possibly understand, and she isn't sure he is even listening to them fully.

"So we were hoping that… instead of having an incident in our hands," Sheppard says carefully. "You two could – think about this. And talk about it, too. And not do anything – drastic. We don't really feel that you actually get the seriousness of the situation here."

Desmond pushes his hands into his pockets and sighs. "Probably not," he agrees. "But this – staying secure in a fortress, safe while out there terrible shit happens… that's not how Ezio does things. We're not going to get anywhere here."

"You could, if we just worked together," Sheppard says, frustrated.

For a moment Desmond just looks at him and then sighs. "Maybe, in time," he agrees. "Give it a few months, few years. You settle in, find your place in the galaxy, turn Atlantis into something more than just your private off world resort, then maybe it could happen," he shrugs. "It will take too damn long for you to get there, though. Ezio is not going to wait for you to get your heads out of your asses, and neither am I."

"Hey, now," the Major says. "We're figuring things out, here – yeah, it takes some time, but we're trying the best we can here."

"Yes, I can see that," Desmond says and shrugs. "But with you we can't do the best _we_ can."

Teyla draws a breath and releases it. "Do you realise what it means, to go with him?" she asks. "Do you understand the danger it will put you in? And not only that, but… it will likely be difficult for you to return here."

The former Ascended looks at her, and smiles faintly. "It doesn't matter to me. Atlantis isn't my home," he says and looks at them. "I'm from Earth, probably, not from this place. I can make the tech here work, sure… but it's not my home."

Teyla blinks, her eyes widening a little. Beside her, Major Sheppard doesn't look particularly surprised, though – actually, he looks like he'd been expecting it. "You were an assassin," he says.

"Probably," Desmond agrees and looks away. "I think I was descended from the higher plane because I got Ezio here on time. If he'd overshot your arrival by more than fractions of a percentage, then Atlantis might've been empty when his ship came here. Or maybe Atlantis wouldn't have been here at all. I broke… a lot of rules to keep him alive."

Teyla hesitates, glancing at Major Sheppard and then at Desmond, who looks wistfully nostalgic. "He is very important to you," she says.

"Yes," Desmond says simply and with complete, almost _divine_ , finality.

There'd be no talking him around – nothing they could say would make him do anything but what Ezio Auditore required.

Sheppard licks his lips, looking very uncomfortable. "Is there any chance we could talk you out of doing anything… rash?" he asks, not sounding terribly confident there is.

"Will you let us leave?" Desmond asks.

Major Sheppard sighs. "I will talk to Weir. I get why she said no, but… yeah, I'll talk to her," he says. "Don't do anything dumb until then, alright?"

Desmond smiles, apologetic, looks past them and down the hall. Ezio has just stepped out of a transporter there. "No promises," the former Ascended says and goes to meet the Assassin, leaving them staring after him. They meet midway, exchange a nonverbal greeting of looks and nods, and together they turn away. If Ezio notices them at all, he pays them no mind.

"You know," Sheppard says. "They have psychic abilities – both of them. They can… _see…_ things."

"I have come to the same conclusion, yes," Teyla agrees grimly.

He's quiet for a moment before sighing. "This is going to suck."

* * *

 

Teyla understands Elizabeth's position. If it was her in Elizabeth's shoes, she might have gone down a path similar to hers – striving to control an uncontrollable situation, to instil some sense to it, and try and reason her way through it. But Elizabeth's problem is that she is still seeing people through the lens of Earth culture. Whatever it is truly like, Teyla doesn't know, but people of Earth – and by connection, Elizabeth – are used to peace and abundance. They do not understand the preciousness of time.

Elizabeth, Teyla thinks, expects people to be calm and discuss things thoroughly with care and patience. That is her first instinct in face of all disasters – to have a meeting to discuss it, to have a break to think on it, and then to discuss it again. Now too she expects _cooler heads to prevail_ as she says, for Ezio to calm down and for them to talk things through again.

And Teyla can see how such an approach might work well, in a peaceful world, in a world where time is not a hard won luxury. The people of Earth have brought with them that freedom, the _wealth_ of time to think and feel and react. It rubs many of her people wrong, they are so unused to it, but Teyla can see its power and its beauty. It is partially this habitual… _patience_ that makes these people so smart and wise.

But Ezio, Teyla thinks, does not come from a peaceful world, either. And better yet, Ezio is an Elder, and even if the Expedition does not place respect upon the title, it does not lessen its impact upon his worldview. He is older, he has seen much – he knows the precious briefness of life.

He will not wait.

The first sign of trouble comes as a call over the radios – a guard placed at Ezio Auditore's door had gone to investigate a noise inside, to find his quarters empty, the window slightly ajar – wind had knocked something over. Similarly, Desmond is gone from his room, disappeared as if into thin air. Outside, and over the walls of the buildings.

What happens next is impossible to say – there is an attempt to track them, but Atlantis makes little distinction between friend and foe, and between the Expedition and the Athosians, there are thousands of people in the city. After some time they learn that either Ezio or Desmond had visited Doctor McKay's laboratory, unseen by anyone – devices there had gone missing.

"It's the disk and the ball we got from the ship Auditore came on, the Apple thing," Doctor McKay says. "Who knows how they got in, but they did – and the devices are both gone now."

Teyla watches the proceedings from the side as Doctor Weir and Major Sheppard attempt to track the Assassins down, as they attempt to wrestle back control. Doctor Weir makes a city-wide announcement, hoping to make Ezio rethink, saying, "There is nowhere you can go, Ezio – please, just come forth and we'll discuss this –" but it will not work. She is still not thinking _right_.

Elizabeth had set an obstacle, had turned Atlantis into a prison, and Ezio and Desmond into captives. It is not how she sees it, but by restricting Ezio's freedom, she has made a decision she possibly has not realised she'd made. And Teyla can only despair, thinking what this might mean for the relationship between the Expedition and the Athosians. For one of their own Elders to do this… especially after Ezio had spoken for them?

"Just think about this, Ezio," Elizabeth says, staring at nothing as she speaks into the headset. "We can work this out."

And then, the control tower… powers down. The consoles go dark, the lights dim, everything shifts around them and turns off. Blinking, they all look around with alarm – and then someone spots Desmond, down on the level of the Stargate.

There is a pedestal, risen from the floor – with blue panels on the sides, glowing faintly. Desmond is resting his hand upon it – it is the only fully lit piece of Ancient technology left in the control room.

"What – what is that, what did you do?" Doctor McKay demands.

"Sorry, you kinda didn't leave us that many options," Desmond says, his hand resting loosely on the pedestal. "I've taken control of the city – it's temporary, don't worry," he says quickly. "But kill me now and nothing here will ever work for you again. Including the Stargate."

"Desmond," Doctor Weir says, coming to a railing. "Don't do this."

"It's _temporary_ ," Desmond says again and smiles. "Ezio is on his way – when he comes here, let him dial the Gate. I'll put this," he nods to the pedestal, "on a timer, and you'll have control once the Gate shuts down after us."

"Doctor Weir," Bates says under his breath, his tone dangerous. "Just give the word and – "

She waves him down and says to Desmond, "It didn't need to come to this," with a tone of regret in her voice.

"You're right, it didn't have to – but it did," he says and shrugs and then turns his eyes to Bates. "Don't try it."

"Stand down, Sergeant," Major Sheppard says quickly, and with obvious reluctance Sergeant Bates eases up his tense position – though not by much. Shaking his head, Major Sheppard moves to the railing. "What is that thing?" he asks, nodding to the pedestal.

"Central command console, I think," Desmond says. "Whoever's DNA is on this thing commands the city. I suggest you do it, after we're gone – you're all about security risks, after all, and this is a big one."

"Oh my god, and we never knew," McKay mutters. "It figures there would be something like this, why didn't I think of it?"

Teyla ignores him and also moves to the railing. "Where will you go?" she asks.

"I have no idea," Desmond says and shrugs again. "Ask Ezio."

"You don't have to do this," Elizabeth tries again. "You don't have to do as he says, Desmond, you don't have to go with him."

"Yeah, I know. Still gonna, though."

And then Ezio arrives, stepping out of the transporters. He's in full armour, a hood pulled over his face, the bags and satchels at his waist full – every move he makes breathes _danger_. The marines in the gate room move to intercept, but at Doctor Weir's and Major Sheppard's word, they back out. The Elder looks at them, then down at Desmond – who sends him a cheerful little wave – and then he moves to join them on the control levels.

"We could have talked through this," Elizabeth says, frustrated, as he moves to the dialling pedestal. "It didn't have to come to this."

Ezio hums as he dials – Teyla recognises the address, Ezio and Desmond are heading to Adjanna, it seems. The Elder speaks. "For what it is worth, I have only great respect for what you are attempting here," he says. "I have no doubt one day Atlantis can be all you and the Athosians hope it will be. It will no doubt be a great day for this galaxy."

"We could have worked together," she says.

Ezio looks at her and makes a thoughtful noise. "Perhaps one day," he says, and looks at Elizabeth, considering her. "I believe this separation will work to benefit us both, in the end. One day the Assassin Brotherhood might be in position to assist you – but within this city, I am impotent."

Elizabeth hesitates and then admits, "Maybe, but you didn't have to hijack Atlantis just to leave," she says frustratedly. "We could have worked something out."

The look he gives her is a little amused. "You have to admit, this is faster," Ezio says. "Take it as a lesson, Doctor Weir, on how to treat your allies. Not everyone has the wealth of patience you do."

He casts a look at them all and then activates the Gate. "I wish you all good luck," he says casting a look around the control tower. "I hope when I see the proud uniforms of the Atlantis Expedition again, it will be a meeting of friends – and not enemies."

Then, hindered by no one, he heads down to meet with Desmond, who waits for him calmly by the Gate. Teyla watches them, watches the way they relax in each other's presence – watches how Desmond steps back from the pedestal and towards Ezio.

Together, as all of Atlantis holds its breath… they disappear through the Gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter, I think.


	12. Chapter 12

Ezio seems to think that writing things down might help me with my memory problems. It seems to work for him, so I thought I'd give it a shot, but – turns out I'm not that good with writing. I mean, I can, but – it's just – it's not as natural to me. I guess I get writer's block. I don't know. So, I jury-rigged Ancient hand console to record audio, and that seems to work better for me.

I think I used to do something like this before – talking to a machine, talking to someone through a machine. I don't remember it that clearly, I don't – I don't know why or when or who I was talking to, but – but… it just feels familiar.

Should probably cover my bases before I really start. Hi, um, whoever might ever listen to this. Hi Ezio, I guess, doubt I will let anyone else get their hands on this. It's me, Desmond, I'm, uh… I'm trying to sort through my thoughts, my way. Sorry about not using the book you got me – turns out the language I know how to write in is not something you can read. I guess it's English – feels like it is, and uh… Stargate doesn't translate text. So. We'll go with spoken word from here on out – or I will, anyway.

We're in Adjanna now, in the Inn you rented the room at. You're out with Mevressa, strolling around the town, checking for potential recruits, I guess, checking the scenery. It kinda looked like you two might have a thing, so I, uh. I begged out of coming. Hope you two have fun, whatever you do. I got some self-reflection to do anyway.

I still don't remember much, just these glimpses, these… these flashes of things that don't make much sense. Like that dream I told you about, about the hanging of your father and brothers – I didn't tell you this, but it… it felt a little off, like, I don't know. Memory inside a memory? Think someone said that to me sometime, I don't remember. A lot of the things I remember are like that.

Like there is this castle I keep thinking about, and it _hurts_ to think about it. This big stone fortress on top of a mountain village, and the village is stretched along this winding path that climbs upwards at a steep angle, and the people there, they're grey and quiet but _hardy,_ and there are these men there, with white hoods – Assassins, I think. And I keep thinking, or – or I don't think it was me, thinking it, but I keep feeling this… this nostalgic pain. _Look how far we have fallen_. I think I'm Altaïr, in that memory. I think the castle is Masyaf.

It's kinda hard, separating _me_ from these other people I remember. Altaïr – and you too. It feels like I've lived through you, somehow.

It kinda… kinda feels like I'm… I don't know how to put it but, I look at you and I feel this smug, guilty triumph over you. Like I did a successful heist, or something. Like, _ha, gotcha_.

I don't even know what I am trying to get at here.

I just…

* * *

 

Okay, it's been… a few days since we came to Adjanna, and a lot has happened since then. I mean, you know what's happened, Ezio, you were there, but… you're writing the stuff down to sort through it, so I guess I should too.

You're back in the inn, I'm having a stroll to stretch my legs. I'm on the pier of the Myank, looking over the fishing boats heading down the bay. I think I've been on a boat, once – this all feels weirdly familiar, somehow. Maybe I should see if I could, like… do a little side quests with the fishermen here. They certainly don't turn down any helping hand who wants to put in a day or two of work, so it could be a thing. We're already doing so many chores around this town that it wouldn't be that weird, right?

It's incredible, the way you are just… accumulating funds, making connections, spreading influence. Like I know this, I _remember_ this, it feels like I've watched you do it before, and I'm in no way surprised by any of it, but at the same time it's like for the first time I'm realising that… that you actually do it? I don't know, it's one of those weird dual feelings where I know something, on the inside – subconsciously, I know this – but on a more conscious level I'm also realising it at the same time, figuring out what it means? I don't know how to explain it, but…

You're amazing, Ezio. How much of this stuff you do calculatedly, how much of it is just your _nature_ , how easy it all seems and yet how it all falls into its place, it's...it's amazing. How quickly and effortlessly you put people at ease and make them like you, make them side with you. These aren't ignorant people, they're not naïve – actually, they're kinda the opposite, these people are on the cynical suspicious side, and you… you make them like you so easily. And all the while, you're laying down groundwork for the Brotherhood, and you do it like it's a second nature, as easy as breathing – I don't know if you even think about it, you just… do it. It's incredible.

We already have a couple of prospective recruits and enough funds to kit them out, and it's been only a few days. You're not wasting any time here, huh? I guess that's the thing, with experience, with practice. You've done this so many times that it's just that easy – you just do it.

I… huh. Have you done this before – like, multiple times? I mean, I knew you ran the Brotherhood, you told me,  but several times? Guess I should ask you about that, but… I kinda don't want to. I mean, I love talking to you, don't get me wrong, but… you're getting busier with all the stuff that's going on, and I kinda want to remember on my own too.

Starting to feel a little useless, I guess. You're doing so much now, and I'm kind of just hanging back doing the heavy lifting. Not that you need me even for that, but… this whole thing, laying the groundwork for the Brotherhood, making connections, I'm… I'm not so good with that. Not like you.

The sun is setting now – third moon is rising over the bay, or what's left of the third moon, I guess? It's trippy, watching it rise, these shards all across the horizon as the skyline turns purple and red and orange, this is… like something from a movie.

I can't believe I'm _here_. In another world. Watching alien sun set as broken up alien moon rises. Velva – the waitress at the inn? She told me that long ago, there was a great battle between the Ancestors and the Wraith here, that's when the moon got broken up. That's… that's mindblowing to think about. Some ten thousand years ago, space-faring alien races fought a battle that broke a whole _moon_.

It's an amazing looking sunset. Kinda wish… Actually, wonder if I can take a video on this thing – hold on a minute –

* * *

 

Shit. Just _shit_. I don't – I don't know what. Holy fucking _shit_.

There – there was a Wraith attack, and I –

Fuck, I – yeah, no, I can't do this right now.

* * *

 

I just remembered something. Or, not remembered, but I almost started this by saying, _Hi again, dad_ , so I guess that's kind of like realisation? I used to make recordings like these for my dad, my father. I had a father. I might still have a father, somewhere. I – I never even thought to _think_ that I might have a _family_ , that I might've ever had a family. I kinda – sometimes it feels like I sprung from the ground fully formed, which is completely ridiculous, I know, but that's what happens when you lose all your memories. You forget growing up, being a kid – not having always been a fully grown adult. You know?

That's – not what I started recording this for, but. Learn something new every day, huh?

After a hectic few days, we've left Adjanna behind – you, me, Kerisa, Ferma and Lakar, your three new students. It's nice and weird, travelling in this much company, but it's also so cool. Like, I don't think I can convey how _cool_ this feels to me, being a part of this, seeing this happen, seeing you just… do these things. Ezio, this is just _so cool._

Anyway, we've arrived on the ruins planet – or whatever it was called. The Planet of the Ruins of the Ancestors? Just ruins and rubble as far as the eye can see – no plants, no trees, which is… fun. _Not_. Dry as the desert here, but it kind of goes with the theme, I guess – with Masyaf, you know? You and the others are scouting the area – or you're teaching them to scout – while I'm looking around in the ruins, trying to figure out if there's anything here we can use – anything I can activate.

This place was definitely built by the Ancients – but Mevrassa is right. This place has been stripped bare long ago, everything that was worth anything has just been taken away. That's what ten thousand years of raids, pilgrimages and probably random bouts of settling does to a planet – like, I can see there's been people here since the planet was abandoned by the Ancients, I can see where they've tried to build up houses. At a guess, lack of water and lack of plants eventually decided it for them – this place isn't very habitable.

No way anyone could farm here – and if there's any animals alive here… yeah, I doubt it. It's too hot – and it kinda feels like we're in the cooler zone of the planet.

We should call this place Tatooine. I have no idea why, but we should. I mean, deserts, right? Right? Actually… huh. Hang – hang on a moment, I gotta check something.

 

Okay, water vaporators aren't a thing, I am _sad_ I think, don't ask me why, but… moving right along – I found tunnels, and I found sewers. I haven't found any water yet, but – the air here is damp, which is promising. Oh yeah, also found an entryway with power and working machinery, which is even more promising – this place is stripped almost bare, but not completely, it seems like. There's still juice running here, somewhere, which means there might be other stuff too.

Now, if I can find a source of water, or some sort of Ancient equivalent of water collector or whatever, and if we can make use of the said water, and if that said water could be possibly used for, say, making a little greenhouse? Then we might be in business. It's obvious this place hasn't seen either any action or any occupation for hundreds of years, no one can live on the surface for long – but we're Assassins. Hidden underground shelters is what we do, right? At least it feels like it is?

Whatever, I'm going to go find where the moisture in the air is coming from. Fingers crossed that there's some actual hydration in our future. If not, then I guess this planet isn't hideout-worthy after all.

* * *

 

We have settled on the planet, which is now being called Tatooine. I don't know why, I was the one who suggested the name, but now I am embarrassed. I think I got the name from a movie? Well. I guess it could be worse?

Anyway, we have viable water, we have rooms with air-conditioning about, uh, fifty meters below the planet's surface? I think we're basically living in the sewers of this planet, but this being the Ancients' site, the sewers are something else. I think I've been in churches smaller than these chambers? We also found a control centre for the city's waterways, which has let me actually reroute some of the water so that we have easier access to it, and which has given us, I guess, our own little Ancient database? It's nothing like what's on Atlantis, but it's a computer, capable of holding and processing information, so yay, we have technology?

Apparently it's now my job to manage the techy aspects of our hideout. You know, inbetween fixing up the place, rebuilding, and training. None of which are tasks we can dedicate that much time to.

As soon as we have a viable hideout, we're going to head out again, visiting another world in search of more recruits. We need more people – and now we have a damn good selling point for recruitment. Safe hiding place in a world no longer on Wraith's radar, capable of sustaining _some_ life – even if it's only little life, and even that only below the surface. It's not good enough for a nation, no way, but a Brotherhood? Members of the Brotherhood, possibly their significant others, their children?

According to Ferma, that's a damn good deal for anyone, whether or not they want to kill Wraith. "And hear this – everyone wants to kill Wraith," she said.

Ezio is eager to make more connections on the other worlds too, to lay down some investments. I think he also wants to find an architect to hire or recruit. We could also do with an engineer, probably. And you know, food. The only food we have is what we brought in with us.

Wonder if we could have an underground greenhouse. The Ancients must've figured out UV lighting, right?

* * *

 

It's been… a few days since I made a recording. I, uh. Shit, I have no idea where to start. It's been a really, really hectic few days.

We set out for another _groundwork_ visit to another planet – Pelavna, a farming planet. Nothing but fields and orchards as far as the eye could see. It was supposed to be the usual thing – getting to know the people, doing some side missions, making friends, seeing if we could make connections, find some recruits. Only – only it didn't turn out like that.

The place had just been culled when we came, and it was culled to the ground. This, this was nothing like back on Adjanna where the Wraith decimated the population, this was… fuck, I don't think they were looking to leave anyone or anything alive. It was so fucking _hateful_.

We did find survivors – people who hid in cellars and stuff, whom the Wraith either overlooked or didn't feel like bothering with. But – there's this town, or was this town? Remekke, it was the closest town to the Stargate – it had nine thousand people, just a week ago. Nine _thousand_ people, with enough agricultural industry to feed every one of them, and good twenty thousand more on top. It's not much, in terms of Earth population, but here in Pegasus, Remekka was a big town.

We found twenty eight survivors in Remekka.

 _Twenty eight_.

This – this doesn't make any sense to me, what happened here – what probably happened in every other town across this planet. Pelavna isn't a small world – I think it's about Earth-sized, so, that's a lot of real estate. How many towns were there, hundreds, thousands – hundreds of thousands? Even at the low estimate of, say, thousand towns, each with about nine thousand people... that's nine million people across Pelavna, and if they all were culled to _this point_ …

It – it defies logic. Pelavna can't _survive_ this kind of population loss. The people are dead, they're just _dead_ , there's no coming back from this. Wraith just killed an entire _world._ Soon, some other group will swoop in and claim the planet and its resources – I mean, it's a lot of food, right? It's a lot of food, enough to support a shit-ton of people, and the Wraith just…

How does any of this make any sense, in terms of _keeping a food supply_? Sure, the Wraith culled millions of people here, they'll have a surplus for a while – but this world won't come back from this. Long term, this planet likely won't produce that kind of population for hundreds, thousands of years. Wraith just glutted up an entire world, and…

Fuck, I am trying to make sense of the logic of life-sucking vampires, what the hell am I even doing?

* * *

 

We number about fifty on Tatooine now. Mostly Pelavnan people, from Remekka and other towns close to the Stargate. Not all of them came with us, most chose to stay on Pelavna and do what they can to live, until the inevitable invasion of some other people from another world. A lot of Pelavnans, though… they don't want to live under open skies anymore, I guess. They don't want to be defenceless like that again.

We got a lot of food from Pelavna, a lot of resources – including a whole lot of alive plants. Bela, a farmer, is setting up a greenhouse in our hideout – we cleared one of the bigger chambers along the waterways for her, she's working on setting up hydroponics thing. Most of the Pelavnans working on it, really. It's… yeah. It's something.

We gave the remaining Pelavnans the means to contact Atlantis – with that much surplus food in their hands, they can make some damn good deals with the Atlanteans, probably. I hope it works out better for them – hope the Atlanteans aren't assholes to them. Not much else we could do for them, though, aside for what little we did. We don't have the numbers, yet.

But we probably will, and it will probably happen sooner than we assumed.

Fifty Assassins to be, in less than a month. There's people coming from Adjanna too, coming from cities and towns further away from the Stargate, looking for revenge. This Brotherhood is going to be a lot bigger than any other Ezio ever ran before, it looks like. I think he's up for the challenge though.

He's doing great, managing this all. We got some good builders from Pelavna and are working on expanding in the sewers of Tatooine as fast as we can, covering more ground, making more living spaces. We already have more than we currently need – but with this rate of expansion, it won't do for long.

We take turns training people, me and Ezio. We speed them through the basics – of how to move quietly, how to attack properly, what kills a Wraith. Ezio's hoping we can soon start sending them out on basic missions, collecting information, scouting out potential allies, that sort of thing – and the faster we get this thing off the ground, the better. But they need to know how to defend themselves and each other first. There's just… not anywhere near as much time as we hoped.

I'm working on something to compensate for our lack of local smithy – I'm tracking down a bit of Ancient technology mentioned in our little database. It's just a mention, an old repair log on a replacement part - _fusion filter 32.4 received from fabrication station 5_ – which sounds a little like _something that can make things_. I kind of doubt Ancients had to beat metal with hammers to make stuff – I mean, Atlantis had fabricators just for clothes. So there gotta be fabricators for metal, some sort of… I don't know, Star Trek replicator thing? If there is one, we need it.

We need _weapons._ And sure, there are blacksmiths back on Adjanna who owe Ezio and who are making orders for him… but it's not going to be enough.

We need ways to kill Wraith Darts.

We need _bombs_.

* * *

 

It's kinda funny, to be still struggling with memory in the midst of all of this. I mean, I'm remembering things more now, I keep forgetting to mention it because it's just not that important right now, but yeah. Still can't remember everything, but I remember enough for it to be damn frustrating.

I think I worked in a bar? Yeah, pretty sure I did. Melva – one of our latest recruits – brought with him a barrel of really really good alcohol, like nothing I've tasted before. And I – I didn't even think, I just… kinda took over the distribution of it. Um. It was kinda rude of me probably, but I just knew what to do with it, knew how to serve it – knew how to make drinks people would like.

For Bela I mixed this drink of Pelavnan rutna and merek juice. For Kerisa, a shot of Adjannan mur with hint of cream on top. Lakar had his shot straight up, and for Ferma it was ice and rutna. Jin and Dema had theirs mixed in with mur berries in this soup, which, to each their own, I guess. For Ezio I made a highly concentrated mix of merek juice extract with a hint of mur – he says it tastes a little like red wine.

It wasn't a party, exactly – I'm not sure what it was. We just wound down when evening came, and I just – I got everyone drunk. Like it was my job to get everyone drunk. And it was good – Ferma played the menkel and Bela taught us raunchy songs the farmers on Pelavna used to sing during harvest festivals, and we just… we had a night of it.

And all night I had this nagging feeling that I know this, I know all of this – I kept missing these tools I barely remember the names of. Shaker? I wanted to put sticks on the drinks I made, and I missed this fruit – Ezio thinks I meant orange? I don't think it was orange. Some sort of citrus, it would've made the drink I made for Ferma perfect, a hint of bitterness to top it off. And, uh…

It's not exactly what you'd expect from a formerly Ascended Assassin, huh? Serving drinks. I mean, they were pretty fancy drinks, if you ask me, I put my heart and soul into making them just right and I think I did good, and I'm proud, but… Not quite what I expected?

But worth it, so worth it. Seeing Ezio push back his hood and drink the night away with the rest of us though, all relaxed and nice… _fuck,_ he looks good when he smiles. It's been way too long since I've seen him wind down. Made it worth the hangover, lemme tell you. Gotta get him drunk again.

… yeah, I am so going to delete that last part, how do I edit these things, is there a button or -

* * *

 

Another world, another… something. I don't even know what, how… damn it. Pegasus Galaxy is just the gift that keeps on giving. I mean, it wasn't culling this time, thank god, but damn. _Damn_.

Hoffans are hardcore. They just… they basically poisoned half of their own people. Just like that. Because they developed a drug that makes a person immune to Wraith feeding – and not just that, but _kills_ the Wraith feeding on them. And despite the fact that this drug apparently has 50/50 chance of _killing you_ … they gave it to everyone. So, half of their people died, and they didn't mind – just for the chance of becoming immune.

Goes to show how fucking different the life here is, what kind of stakes there are. I mean, if I hadn't seen Pelavna, if we didn't know what the Wraith did there… fuck, I don't even know. This is horrifying, but damn, yeah, I can see why they did it. Scary-ass shit, but fuck, yeah, I get it.

The Atlanteans have been here, turns out – that's how the Hoffans got their drug to this point, and with the Wraith all up and about and culling whole planets to extinction, they made a leap of faith and then some. That was apparently a bit too much for the Atlanteans, they cut off all contact after the drug was voted for in a nicely democratic global vote, and isn't that scary too, the whole planet going with something like this? You gotta admire that kind of resolution.

They're looking to offer this drug to other worlds, and I can see some taking them up on it, yeah. Apparently the Atlanteans warned them that the Wraith would kill them, and yeah, I can see that happening too, the Wraith aren't gonna be happy about this once they find out. But if you could go back in time, offer this to the Pelavnans, knowing what would happen? Yeah, I can see this spreading. Can it spread faster than the Wraith can destroy it, though?

Ezio's very keen on this – like, scarily keen, it's kind of worrying, actually. I mean, I trust him, of course I trust him, and I can see what he sees – the Hoffans are _all blue_ , they actually mean to help everyone they can, give this drug to everyone they can, it's amazing. But, uh… 50/50 chances? That's… that's not good odds.

Maybe as, like, last resort thing, cyanide pill style? Or – oh. Oh my god – yeah, I just realised why Ezio's keen.

A drug that kills Wraith. Damn. That's gonna – yeah.

_Fuck yeah._

* * *

 

It's been a few weeks since my last recording, few very busy weeks. Feels like it's been even longer, since we were back home, at the hideout. Things have changed here – Kelmar has been working hard on the renovations, this place is starting to look pretty damn cosy. We got baths, we got a dining hall now, kitchens, barracks, Ezio's got a proper office, we got makings of a library, armoury, meeting hall…

It's starting to really look like Assassins Headquarters – there's even tapestries. It's just… it's nice. It's home.

Damn, I wish I hadn't called this place Tatooine. Don't think I can change it now, it got stuck. I am never ever gonna live this down – I mean, no one here really knows about Star Wars, how would they, but… I am not looking forward to the day the Atlanteans learn about this place. Or maybe I am. Sheppard's face should be hilarious.

But – back to the matter at hand. It's good to be home. We've been working nonstop with the Hoffans, in replicating their drug, in spreading information about it around. Everyone knows the Wraith are going to try and kill this thing, as soon as they learn about it, they are going to try and kill it, wipe out any knowledge of it. So, we've been helping the Hoffans make sure it's preserved – made a _lot_ of friends in the last few weeks, made a lot of allies.

Thankfully, not all worlds are exactly like Hoff – not all of them throw themselves head first into planetwide human trials, thank god. But now there's a lot more worlds on this, a lot more scientists and doctors – most every world put all their best minds on it, those who have advanced enough in medicine to do it, anyway. This drug is going to go through a lot of development real fast, and with hope, they improve the survivability. In the meanwhile…

A lot of people now have a poison that works on Wraith. The first poison ever developed that _kills Wraith_. The fuckers heal from everything, but this thing… this thing kills them every time. And we know this, because we tested it. Well, it wasn't really an intentional test, it was more of an – incident.

The fourth world we went on with the Hoffans was in the middle of culling – a systematic decimation-style culling. Not that it's actual _decimation_ – decimation is the removal of a tenth. Wraith do the exact opposite when they cull a planet down to breeding population – they take out nine-tenths, and leave a tenth of the population, usually kids, behind. Should ask Ezio the Latin word for _that_ if there is one, and – and this is completely beside the point.

There was a culling in progress, Wraith on the ground, hand picking the population to be culled. There was Ezio, me, Melva, Jin and Xeri there – along with the Hoffan representative. We got the representative into safety, we poisoned our blades with the Hoffan Drug, and then… then we went out.

It's not the first time any of us has fought Wraith – for Jin and Xeri and for me too… it was the first time we actually managed to _kill_ them. Wraith are fucking hard to kill – they take blows like they're nothing, walk away from stabs and hits that would kill anyone, sometimes nothing short of a bomb will do the trick. Best we usually manage is to take out an arm or something, stop their chances of feeding, but overall… it's never good odds, fighting the Wraith.

Not until now.

It's not an instant kill, the Hoffan drug. It takes a while – but if you can get it into the spine, or at least into the neck, if you can get at them from above and get a poisoned blade deep enough… then it's less than three minutes and they're dead.

It's not much, on a galactic scale – we still can't take out the Darts, and any hope of killing a Wraith Hive Ship? Forget it. But damn.

It's a _start._

We're having a wind-down night to celebrate. Ezio and our new Hoffan recruit – Mirva, a military medic who's kind of on loan from the Hoffans to help us develop more effective methods of delivering the Hoffan drug – are working on weapons, looks like we're going to have blow darts and dart guns in our future. I have a feeling, in the back of my head – there was assassin weapon once, I think, something that attached to a bracer, which was kind of like a dart gun for poisoned blades?

But that's for later. Tonight we're celebrating. I'm making punch, mixing drinks, and Ferma is going to play, we even got new instruments from Hoff, a _pianke_? Something like that, it's a kind of dulcimer sort of thing. Ferma and Bela have been working on making music together, they're going to play for us, it's gonna be great. We might even get some dancing happening – there's certainly enough people here, and I think everyone's been looking for an excuse to wind down a little. Honestly, it's needed.

Ezio definitely needs it, he's been working really hard with the Hoffan drug stuff, he needs a break. I'm gonna damn well make sure he gets it. You'd think guy like him would know how to wind down – I remember enough of his life to know he definitely didn't have any trouble with it in the past. I mean – the guy knew how to get down.

And it's not like there isn't a man or a woman here who wouldn't be happy to get down with him, if you know what I mean.

… I seriously have no idea who I am making these recordings for anymore, huh?

* * *

 

I think I might have… um. Fuck.

Let's… yeah, never mind.

* * *

 

We got a word today of a potentially really promising recruit. A guy stopped by the meeting place in Setran – another ruin world where no one lives in, because the place has a perpetual cloud coverage and nothing grows there either. We weren't there, then, but we went in later on – me, Dema and Kerisa. Standard recruiting, information gathering – poison selling – mission. Met some random people from random worlds, made some friends – and then we heard about this guy.

Apparently, Wraiths do _sports_ , the worst sort of sports I have ever heard of. They take these people, these – I don't know. People who make an impression, I guess? And they tag them with trackers and then they… send them running. And hunt them. Like it's a _sport_.

Runners, they're called and this guy, Ronon, he's been one for about six years. Six years of running from Wraith who are constantly tracking them running and _killing them_. If that ain't Assassin material, I don't know what is.

Apparently he came to Setran by mistake, told the people here what and who he was, and then headed back through the Gate immediately after. The Wraith didn't follow him to Setran, but the people there at the time managed to catch where Ronon was headed to, so, that's… I think that's worth investigating.

And honestly, I could use a break from… yeah, not in a hurry to head back home right now. So, Dema is heading back to Tatooine, to tell Ezio, and me and Kerisa are heading after the Runner. See if we can do something for him, recruit him, or failing that, at least offer him some of the Hoffan drug.

Looks like it's gonna be an adventure.

* * *

 

Ronon is a beast. He's not a _happy_ beast, but damn he's impressive.

It took a while to track him down, he definitely didn't make it easy, and it didn't help that there were Wraith in those woods, doing the same thing. Dema took out one of them, I took out two – or we poisoned them, anyway, they ended up dying an hour or so later from the Hoffan Drug. After that, it was a game of cat and mouse with Ronon, and I think he came out on top? Um. No training like trial by fire, huh? You can tell this guy is used to fighting for his life.

Making a recruitment pitch while hanging upside down in a trap is not the most dignified way to do it, but I managed to do it, managed to catch his interest – the dead Wraith and our weaponry helped there. The problem then was the tracker, which is apparently on his _spine_ , not a fun that, but thankfully we got allies now – and a little bit of Ancient tech on our side.

I don't think Ezio was happy with me – he came back with Mirva, to see what we could do about the tracker. I, uh – yeah. Anyway, long story short, Mirva got the tracker out, and Ronon came with us to the Headquarters. He's gonna join the Assassins, and I think he's gonna be an asset.

I, on the other hand, am going to hide in the database room until Ezio stops looking for me – and looking at me funnily. I managed to recruit us one tank of an Assassin, that's gotta be good for something, right? Gotta be worth some leeway, a bit of forgiveness, right?

…I am never getting drunk again. Never ever. Fuck.

Maybe I can just… head out again, just slip away and go and see how Pelavna is doing, visit Adjanna maybe. There's so many people here, Ezio's got his hands busy, he wouldn't notice. Right?

* * *

 

I think I more or less remember everything I am going to, now. There's a whole chunk of my life that's just gone – I remember some glimpses here and there, like working in a bar and doing some other, shadier stuff for money, back on Earth, but… a lot of my past has been pretty much removed. And no wonder. I'm pretty sure I come from the future.

I think I know roughly what happened now though. Well, I can guess.

There was tech I used to watch Ezio – and Altaïr, and another guy too, Connor. I don't remember everything about it, but I was looking for things, so I watched them. And watching them I found those things I was looking for, this trail of… technological bread crumbs left behind for me by the First Civilisation. Things get fractured there, but there was something I was supposed to find, and do, and I think… I think I did. And when I did, I Ascended. Like it was… it was part of the process. I had to Ascend, it was…

And there it goes again, can't remember much past that, but obviously the Ascension part was permanent.

Anyway, I knew from even before that – I knew that Ezio had… disappeared. I knew he'd been taken, that he'd vanished in Masyaf – I almost remember how knew it. But I knew, and I found out even when I Ascended, I found out where he was going, how, when he'd land. And I, uh… I tampered with the process, to get him where I wanted him, when I wanted him there. Atlantis had to be occupied for him to land safely, so…

I came back in time. I had to – I think Atlantis might not be there for long. I don't know if it's going to be destroyed or if it's just going to move or what, but… if Ezio had overshot the landing by a couple of years, Atlantis wouldn't have been there. So, I had to come back to make it happen.

Hence the missing memories – I don't think the Ancients want me messing about with the future. Or maybe the Isu. Either way, everything after year 2004 is kinda… blurry.

But I remember who I was, before that. Desmond Miles, son of William Miles, the current Mentor of the Brotherhood at the time. Funny, I also remember running away when I was sixteen, and yet here I am, obviously a full-fledged Assassin. I kinda remember how that happened, I think a kidnapping was involved, and also there's the whole thing of me _watching_ Ezio and Altaïr and that Connor guy, somehow?

Remember something else too. About Ezio. His wife to be. His kid to be – kid that was, really. See, Sofia Sartor, she had a kid, Flavia, that was – it was Ezio's kid. And I know that, because I think – I think she's my ancestor. Flavia, Sofia and, uh… and Ezio. Sofia was pregnant when Ezio vanished, when the ship Altaïr built for Juno whisked him away, and I – I'm not sure Ezio knew. He might have, but…

Christ, for him it's been, what, a few months? I can't even imagine how that must… how that must feel. To be with the woman you love one moment, ready to start your life together, and the next… you're just gone.

Anyway, Sofia had the baby, and she took her with her back to Italy – or, not back, I don't know if she ever lived in Rome before that, but, uh. Sofia took Flavia to Rome, and they lived together with Claudia, I think. The Auditore name ended there, Claudia was the last living Auditore. Flavia, because Ezio never married Sofia… Flavia was a Sartor. I'm – I'm pretty sure they lived happily though. Flavia eventually had kids, after all, she would've had to for her to be my ancestor, for Ezio to be…

 _Shit_.

I – I don't think Ezio knows any of this. I should tell him.

… I'm gonna tell him.

* * *

 

The Brotherhood is growing fast. We got a lot of recruits now, so many that our first recruits are now pitching in with the training – there's too much going on for me and Ezio to do it. Too much is happening.

It's been months since we saw the last of Atlantis, the Hoffan thing not included. We finally got a word on what's been going on their end – got it straight from the source, even.

Lieutenant Aiden Ford has come to join us – and he did it while drugged up to the gills. Through his – whatever is going on with him, some sort of rebound of Wraith feeding thing – we learned that Atlantis has had its share of trouble since we left. For one, they had near invasion, a big-ass storm, and then, just now, they had a war with the Wraith. Several Hive Ships attacked them – they had Wraith in the city, all the good things.

Ezio is going to try and contact them to offer our aid, but who knows if they'll take it. I mean, I don't know if they even know we're even alive anymore, never mind the fact that we now have more people in the Brotherhood than I think there are in the entire Atlantis Expedition? We grew _really_ fast, kind of scarily fast, really. So fast that we're starting to set up Bureaus in the worlds of our closest allies – Hoff, Adjanna, Pelavna, and so forth. We're still a long way from having fully trained, proper Master Assassins, but… we're getting there, and in any Brotherhood even the novices run missions.

I think we – and definitely Atlantis – kind of underestimated how… how lost lot of people in this galaxy are. How much so many of them _need_ something like this. The Wraith have been herding these people around for generations, keeping them down low, keeping them helpless and confused. A lot of these people are barely surviving, just struggling day to day, with no direction, no rudder – no… well, there's no other way to put it. No, _cause_ to fight for. And yet, everyone wants desperately to fight back. Only they don't – they don't always know how.

You know what many of these people remind me of? A beaten dog. I remember this, this terrible study I read about sometime, I don't even remember when. About this dog who was forced to go through a really uncomfortable experiment, it was like… electric shocks or something. After a while of these electric shocks, the dog just… just resigned itself to it. And even when the researchers opened a way for the dog to escape and be more comfortable, it was so resigned to the shocks that it stayed, right there, taking this constant pain. Because it was used to it and maybe didn't ever expect things to change? I don't know, the whole thing was shitty, but…

Sometimes these people remind me of that. Some of these people are so beaten, so abused, so… so _downtrodden_ that they don't even think that life could change. Something someone said, um… The Wraith cullings are a fact of life?

 _A fact of life._ Like they're an undeniable force of _nature_ , like gravity or rain, like they're universal law.

How horrifying is that?

So these people, they believe it's all hopeless – but inside they're so angry, so bitter, so… helpless and furious and frustrated, that when you give them the slightest glimpse of… I guess, revenge? They jump at it.

The Wraith have almost beaten out the rebellion from human nature here – but not quite. All it takes is a spark, and it all goes up in flames.

And here comes Ezio – with a _flamethrower_.

* * *

 

We're going to meet with representatives from Atlantis on another, neutral world, see if we can work anything out, if there is anything we can do for them, anything they can do for us. That should be… interesting. Ford is not coming with us, he's still going through detox whether he likes it or not – the Wraith Drug makes him all red, not exactly Assassin material. If after that he wants to stay and be an Assassin and can do it without any incidents… then he can. He seems like a good guy, when not drugged up to the gills.

Ezio is hopeful that Atlantis might've gotten its head out of its ass. Guess we will see. There's a rumour going around that Atlantis was destroyed, but I have my doubts. Atlanteans are still going around a bit cockily, for people who have had their highly advantageous rug pulled from under them. Well, whatever. It's up to Ezio to figure out where things will go from there – I'm happy to leave it up to him.

We've, uh… we've been talking it through, the, uh… the incident thing. What happened. Um. It's kinda funny, in hindsight, all of it, except it isn't also, it's – it's terrifying and wonderful and weird and – so, so awkward. That's definitely a big one, the awkwardness, that's like the whole – yeah. But we're figuring it out.

Thing is, I uh… fuck, I don't, I don't know how to… ahem.

Ezio's my… everything, kind of. No, actually, he really is, Ezio is, he's… he's everything, and I, uh. I'm getting bad at denying that he is. And worse at not embarrassing myself and probably also him about it. I mean, I don't think I've ever been exactly subtle. I remember how I was at the start, when I didn't remember anything, and forget the Tatooine thing being embarrassing – me greeting Ezio in Atlantis' cafeteria? _That_ was embarrassing. I was so, so… innocent, I guess.

Anyway, we've been figuring it out, where we stand, how we, uh… how we move on from here. I think… I think it's going to be alright. And even if he doesn't, even if it doesn't… doesn't work out, it's fine. I can still – we'll still be here. We still have work to do, together, for the Brotherhood, that's… that's not going to change and it's going to be enough.

Yeah, it's going to be enough.

* * *

 

Um, yeah, uh. Ahem. About that, that last part, the previous recording – y-yeah, disregard that. It's. _Yeah_.

I am never going to settle for less than this. I'm pretty sure I died for this, and I think came back from the dead for this – I am never going to let this go. Never fucking _ever_.

_Desmond, caro mio, put the thing down and come back to bed._

Yeah, yeah, I'm coming, lemme just –

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, that's the story. It's not perfect but it's finished.

**Author's Note:**

> yep.


End file.
